**I saved this article from the internet version of the Andersonstown news of West Belfast and thought I would throw it in here because I am on an extended winter break and certain of the aspects of this piece come to mind as I sit here in my green scrubs, wondering how a person who usually gets up before the crack of dawn (me) can slip so far so fast.
NIGHT AND DAY IN YOUR PJs
July 12
Squinter
The time has come the walrus said, to talk of many things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings...
And much as Squinter has tried to put it off, much as he has wrestled with his conscience over the advisability of bringing this particular topic on to a public stage, the day was always going to come when the truth would have to be told, and it is this: women in Ballymurphy/Turf Lodge don’t get dressed any more.
Now that doesn’t mean that they run about naked, or in their underwear. No, it means that they spend all day in their pyjamas. Nothing wrong with that, the cry goes up, everyone dosses about the house in their PJs occasionally, which is undeniably so. But we’re not talking about a lazy day off here, or an extended lie-in. Squinter was in Turf Lodge one afternoon last week – around 2.45pm, it was. And in one stretch of road he saw seven women going about their daily business in their pyjamas. Not standing at the door talking to the neighbour, not nipping out to pick up the milk – actually doing the everyday things that normally require a person to get dressed.
Two women were walking through Norglen Gardens, proceeding to who knows where with that peculiar shuffle that fluffy mules necessitate. Both sets of pyjamas were pink, silk(y) and baggy, both twentysomethings had blonde hair and big golden hoops in their ears, both had their arms folded with a ten-deck of Regal tucked in their armpits.
Inside a nearby newsagents another two women – one in her twenties the other perhaps 40 – were picking up a few items: the older woman browsing for a newspaper, the younger buying crisps and chewing-gum. Again, the pyjamas were silk(y) and baggy – one pair pink, the other yellow. Both had fluffy mules, big earrings and cigarettes.
Squinter was considering the import of all this when across the street another of the pyjama women hailed a black taxi and climbed in, which seemed much more shocking because she was leaving a district in which her mode of (un)dress was the order of the day to travel to another part of the city – the city centre, for all Squinter knew.
Because it's his job, Squinter has been making inquiries since he stumbled on this modern wonder and it appears that the phenomenon is not confined to Turf Lodge/Ballymurphy, although that would seem to be the epicentre of it. Pyjama Women are also to be seen, Squinter's assured, roaming the lower Falls.
Just as Margaret Mead's landmark 'Coming of Age in Samoa' redefined the science of anthropology, so Squinter's forthcoming 'Night and Day: Getting Up in Turf Lodge' is expected to send shockwaves through the staid community of people-watchers. A learned German professor has been engaged as co-author and he has already visited the area twice.
'Ziss is very interestink & a fine example of vot ve in ze business call 'Counter-Clothing Syndrome.' And it is not, as some people beleef, nihilistic or negative. On ze contrary, ze women in pyjamas zat I haff seen wear haff put on ze make-up and wear lots of rings und necklaces. In ze summer time zey haff sometimes even got shorts instead of ze long bottoms.'