The Joy of Pyjamas

There was something about the new baby that just wasn't
 quite right.

To me, no thought is more appealing at the end of the day than my pyjamas.  With their warm cotton touch they speak of no more work, total relaxation, and the blissful rest of sleep.

I have a few key demands of pyjamas.  The pattern on the pyjamas must speak of cosiness and comfort in a way that makes you want to throw them on and snuggle up on the sofa with a good film or book.  Check seems to be the most successful for this, with polka dots a strong second choice.  Stripes, on the other hand, do nothing for me; they speak of the pinstripes of the office.  The office is not welcome into the world of pyjamas.  It is kindly asked to leave at the bedroom door.

Secondly, they must be long enough; every inch of leg must be covered, with a few inches left to scrape the floor.  I am told that I have, in my boyfriend Tom’s words, “freakishly long arms”, and, according to New Look clothes, longer than average legs.  It is quite difficult for pyjamas to accommodate a body which has apparently been slightly stretched by the limbs, and many fall at the wayside.  Even the contenders who make it must then face the challenge of The First Wash without shrinking to an unacceptable length.

This need for extra limb material might be to do with feeling like a child again – remember when you would put on tops so long that you couldn't see your hands, and your mum would say “It’s fine, you’ll grow into them”.  I had three favourite pairs of pyjamas when I was young.  As a Star Wars fanatic from an early age, I still remember my pink velveteen Queen Amidala pyjamas, with a white fur cuff around the hem of the top and her picture in the middle.  I also remember my Aladdin pyjamas; blue trousers, witha glow in the dark picture of the genie on the top.  For one of our birthday parties, we had a pyjama party (all the rage in the early nineties) and I wore these with pride.  Clearly Disney made a strong impression on my pyjama choices – my other favourites were 101 Dalmatians, with a picture of Lucky on the red top, with one spotty, velveteen ear, and Dalmatian-patterned bottoms.  In a very early moment of having nothing to wear, I once wore the top to a mufti day at school, which would have been fine except that I told everyone it was my pyjama top, and got a lot of strange looks.

Despite apparently seizing every chance to wear my pyjamas when I was younger, they have become such a symbol of relaxation that I cannot wear them to breakfast except at the weekend.  Being the sign of sleep that they are, they must be kept firmly separate from the start of the day, and are thenceforth banished in order to achieve anything at all.  A Pyjama Day now sounds like my idea of chaos –pyjamas are a treat to savour, not something to wallow in.  Like mince pies, hot cross buns and birthday presents, there is a time and a place; to indulge in these treats at the wrong time crosses a line and ruins the moment.

Whether it is stripey shorts or, like me, extra long checked trousers that send you yawning to bed, take a moment tonight to appreciate what pyjamas are; the symbol of comfort, warmth, and a well earned rest.