Nan liked to buy me clothes and always insisted on buying what she called 'big things' such as coats and shoes. She aimed to buy items that got you looked at, as in her mind any attention was good attention. Unfortunately her idea of what was a good look rarely matched mine - I refer you to the tale of the Nan and the party dress
Coats were always dangerous. I remember a maroon cord coat with white fur around the cuffs and hood - so not a good colour on me and the fluff moulted something dreadful. Nan insisted I looked like someone called Lara. I have since seen Dr Zhivago and have to say - sadly- I bore absolutely no resemblance to Julie Christie. In fact in this coat I looked like Like a cross between Little Red Riding Hood and Liam Gallagher.
She then turned up with an enormous fake fur coat - made for someone about 40 years, no 60 years older than me. It was an alarming yellowy-brown colour and looked like it had been made from a dozen dead cats. When I wore it (under duress) people used to hiss at me and chant 'Fur is murder'. I wondered at what stage Nylon had been alive.
But the height (low) of her coat purchases was the Afghan coat. Her friend worked in a dress shop and when clearing out old stock the woman passed various items to Nan. One of which came my way. Now I think Jimi looks fantastic in his Afghan, but by the time I got mine they had not been in fashion for some time. It had the advantage of keeping me warm, but my goodness when it rained - well, of course it smelt like a wet goat mixed with my signature scent Rive Gauche - hideous. Fortunately one day I 'left' it on the bus - and it was never seen again.