On Saturday night I gave fashion advice.
My apologies to those of you who read this and snorted coffee out of your nose or who fell over; your reaction is perfectly reasonable.
It's true. I, one of the least best dressed men you know (with a special nod to D at this point), gave someone else fashion advice. Another man fashion advice.
I've spent the last few days with Gil and Henry in Lima, sorry - Callao, and on Saturday night we went out for a few drinks and a bit of a boogie, where one of the clubs we may have ended up in (and in fact did, another blog entry is needed for that) was one of the very few (two?) gay clubs in Lima - a little something for the token part time homosexual who has been on the road for a long time.
Henry, a straight man, was planning on wearing a light blue, shiny, shirt, within dark blue jeans-like trousers. Henry, a straight man, was trying to wear clothes which might "blend in" to a club where he doesn't want to be hit on, as if for no other reason than his girlfriend would find it funny and wouldn't stop laughing at him.
At this point I did something I don't think I've ever done with a man before... I gave fashion advice. The advice mostly consisted of "don't wear that if you don't want some attention", closely followed by tongue-in-cheek "and I'll be upset if you get more attention than I do". There was some mutterings along the lines of "that shirt would be OK with black trousers" (what he ended up wearing), but that is more Gil's department; mine was stopping Henry having an "interesting" night.
And so it came to pass that someone, anyone, followed my fashion advice. He didn't get hit on.
