One of those parkas your dad or granddad used to own in the seventies that you never bothered to throw away. The undefined fur on the collar is somewhat perished and moth eaten. It has no waterproofing qualities at all and never did, and if mistakenly worn in wet conditions will act like blotting paper.
May have the slight smell of patchouli oil, the rennants of a visit to a music festival but more likely to give off the odour of cow manure.
Here’s another of my recent drawings for my little book of Gloucestershire names and their true meaning. I’m working on the book but it’s a bit behind schedule at present. It’s typical of those projects of one’s own where one agonises on what it should look like instead of just doing it.
More to come.