Back in ’65 I was what Pete Townshend referred to as an art school mod. This meant that I could not afford the threads worn by true mods – working class lads earning good money and still living at home with mum and dad – but had to improvise with what was left from a meagre student grant after forking out on life’s essentials; beer, food and rent.

In those days I tripped the light fantastic in desert boots, white Levis, boutique bought button down shirt, crew neck sweater from Marks’ and a nearly parka from the local army surplus store. My wardrobe was later reinforced by a jacket that had crept, unnoticed, into the decidedly unswinging and least likely destination for such a garment - the menswear department at the Co-op. It was tan with a thin blue pinstripe - widely spaced - a double vent, narrow lapels, high buttoned front, four button cuffs: fab gear rave pic as John Lennon would have said if he’d ever caught sight of it.

Then there was the seersucker jacket in a large tartan check that was louder than three Marshall amps with the volume turned up to number 11. When I slipped into that, Steve Marriot had nothing on me baby. Nothing, apart from being the best white soul singer of his generation, fronting the Small Faces, stepping out with Chrissie Shrimpton and being one cool customer with an account at Scotch of St James and the Adlib.

OK, admittedly I had a bit of ground to make up, but the jacket was a start. Well, the end really, because that’s about as far as my flirtation with mod took me. But like Townshend, I never surrendered unconditionally to the new peace and love brigade. Not for me the extremes of hippydom; ludicrous loons, baubles, bells and bright shiny beads, headbands – expanding or otherwise – cheesecloth soaked in petuli oil and tie dye corduroy boots. No, I never lost those early mod tendencies for sharp rather than gently rounded.

So imagine my delight this Saturday past, that when out shopping for a suit to wear to my son’s impending matrimonial celebrations I was presented with a vision of electric blue magnificence: truly a Peacock Suit. And better still, it was reduced by half, making it a mere 50% less affordable than before. Outstanding. And come Saturday, standing out is what I’ll be.