I have long been partial to a smock.

My dashing mate Matty wore one at college. And I was drawn to the loose collar, the durable cotton construction, the handy pockets at the front. I liked the suggestion of artisanal labour – of fishermen, gardeners and painterly types (though I recall Matty dubbed his a surfers’ top).

I tend to wear my smocks – in various shades of blue and green - around the house. But I do sometimes slip one on when I’m going out and about.

I recall a particular occasion when I sported a navy smock on a trip to watch West Ham, at the dearly departed Boleyn Ground. As usual, after the game I headed with My-Mate-Andy and the Englishes to the Black Lion pub in Plaistow. And, as usual, it was mobbed, six-deep at the bar.

I found myself wedged into the queue for a drink, shuffling forward a few inches every minute or so. I had to hold firm, to keep my place, to stay fixed and focused.

There was a young lad just behind me, shuffling slowly forward in just the same way.

At length, his chums, waiting at the back of the throng, became impatient for their beer.

‘Come on, Dave, get a move on!’

Dave turned and shouted back:

‘I’m doing my best. I’ve just got to get past Captain Birdseye here.’

I had to laugh. Whereas I imagined I had assumed the look of a traditional craftsman, a horny-handed son of the soil, I reminded this lad of the celebrated sailor-spokesman for frozen fish – hearty, grey haired and comedic.

‘Only the best for the Captain’s table!’

We may think that we are projecting a certain image to the world; that we are in control of our own identity. But often the impressions we make are not those that we intend. Inevitably we miscommunicate. We would do well occasionally to consider how our behaviours and beliefs are landing with other people; to imagine how we are perceived; to see ourselves as others see us.

‘O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us!
It wad frae mony a blunder free us,
An' foolish notion:
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e us,
An' ev'n devotion!’
Robert Burns, 'To a Louse'

Now and again, after the match, we’d have a few words - usually about horses - with Tom, the softly-spoken Irish proprietor at the Black Lion.

One day I realised we’d never really spoken to him about football.

‘Tom, I’ve always wondered: Do you yourself support West Ham?’

He surveyed the large crowd of fans occupying his beer garden, merrily sipping premium lagers in the afternoon sunshine.

‘Well, fellas, I’d put it like this: West Ham supports me.’

'I gave you my heart,
And I tried to make you happy,
And you gave me nothing in return.
You know, it ain't so hard to say,
Would you please just go away?
I've thrown away the blues,
I'm tired of being used.
I want everyone to know,
I'm looking for a good time.
Oh, sail on, honey.
Good times never felt so good
Sail on, honey.
Good times never felt so good.’
The Commodores, ’Sail On’ (L Richie)

No. 557