It's the coat I was born to wear

Twenty-five pounds from a vendor at Old Spitalfield Market. It's an old Soviet coat, complete with hammer-and-sickle buttons on the belt. The front secures with hook and eye closures, probably because it was cheaper. The closures only go down to about sternum level, to allow the bottoms to swing rhythmically as you goose-step across Red Square. Take off the commie buttons, slap a Harrod's label on the inside, and it would sell for 200 pounds.

Anyway, it's like wearing a blanket. I almost don't want winter to go away because the coat and I get along so well. I no longer fear the winds on Highgate Hill.