May I say that every day I see men in Glasgow who are stouter than I am, and (although I’m taller than most Scotsmen) often enough see men of about my height? I’m not so unusual in my dimensions, honestly — just a tallish fellow who’s gone a bit round in the chest and middle. But judging from the charity shops, it is only short, skinny men (or occasionally men of about my jacket size, but with short arms) who give over their castoff clothing. Somewhere there must be a vast warehouse overflowing with suits and jackets my size, but for now, second-hand clothing is only for the slender shorter men.
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Welcome to the club! I did, however receive a present from Ilse brought all the way from Germany: a pair of wonderful Birkenstof (sp?) sandals. I had admired hers last time she was here. No ordinary sandals these, they are covered with little flowers in bright colors. I had tried to find them on line but had given up faced with the “What if they don’t fit?” fears.
Highlanders used to be very tall – the Highland regiments recruited men over six foot regularly – the population of the Highlands grew strong on milk and oatmeal, and, by the sea, herring. Then came the Clearances, and even those not cleared got shoved to one side by the wretched sheep, and the diet became factory produced white bread and condensed milk. The average height of the Highlanders fell. Meanwhile the poverty in the towns was terrible, and the population possibly shorter in the lowlands to start with. People were not at all tall. Glaswegians tend to look like Pa Broon. (Though he is actually a Dundonian).
When I worked as a guide, I often found I was the tallest person in the room, and I am not quite five foot eight inches.
There are fewer clothes for tall people to start with, and they are therefore snapped up fast. I wonder if you would do better in Inverness?