Summer 1982, just left school and although I'd seen the odd person in expensive sportswear attire, it never hit me till the day a few of us went up to Ruislip Lido where some of the other kids from my West London outpost, Northolt, were going for a row with some rocker/psychobilly types.

As I got off the bus, amongst the Adidas Kagoules/T-shirts and Levis which most of us were sporting was this fella I vaguely knew from school. He looked resplendent in a Navy /Red/White Cashmere Diamond Pringle, and what I later found out were faded Lois Jeans and Light Blue Adidas Gazelles.

I couldn't take my eyes of the jumper though. I never imagined something that possibly Bernard Gallagher, Nick Faldo or even Ronnie Corbett would wear could ever rock my world. The kid was even first in for the tear up so he became a cult hero in my eyes in an instant.

That was my introduction into the world of Casual as it later became known. I badgered my mum and dad something rotten for something similar. I'd already got a pair of Farah's to go with my new Adidas Hawaii's but the jumper was another world.

Even back then it was 70 to 80 quid, but on holiday in Bournemouth we went into this big department store and there was Pringle's in the August sale. Happy Days.

With some birthday dough and the old man finally relenting with his wallet, I managed to purchase a plain light blue V Neck. That buzz of putting that jumper on with the Farah's and Hawaii's made me feel I was unique, special and I walked round the chalet park that night feeling untouchable. By the time the football season started, I realised quickly that I was just one of many who had the road to Damascus (Or Stuart's, W12) over the summer and all my mates had got on board.

As Chelsea were struggling in the second division at the time, the away days to Rotherham and Leeds became fashion parades not only to show the away fans the way forward dress-wise (the arrogance of being young and from London) but also to show each other who had the latest items.

It became far more important than the game itself as we were shocking on the pitch. That October, I started work on the dreaded Youth Opportunity Scheme at £25 a week, and after bunging my mum some money, was left with 15 notes.

As things were out of my league, you had to spend wisely. It helped that the local golf shops got broken into on a regular basis but a Fila BJ Matchday track top was out of the question.

Then I started buying and selling records amongst other things so that helped to keep the wardrobe fresh. As 1982 went into 1983, the label of a certain curly-haired tennis player who was a bit touched wore Sergio Tacchini. It became a massive part of my young life. I'd started to become a regular in Stuart's and my namesake would always drop a fiver off the retail price for me whilst giving me a sneak preview into what was coming in next week.

I bought a White Tracksuit with a waffle type material, which became the most impressive item in my wardrobe. The name of the exact Trackie escapes me but wearing that to Marcia Baillie's 18th party in Harrow Cricket Club I felt that good, I knew I would be batting the women into extra cover with a shitty stick. Especially as my hair was at the right length for me to flick out of my eye for added drama.

That was until my Phil Nolan pulled the bottoms down when I was holding two pints, in front of the whole gaff.

Never again did I wear the bottoms out.

As Chelsea had saved themselves from relegation at Bolton, where I had managed to spill coffee on my new beige Diamond Lyle And Scott Jumper on the train, making me feel like a tramp for the rest of the day, we all looked forward to the new season as Bates and Johnny Neal had pulled out some decent players and on the opening day, we smashed Derby 5-0.


When I looked around me in the West Stand Benches that afternoon it seemed like every kid was wearing a label of some sort, apart from the few muggy boneheads still wearing MA1 jackets and DM's.

I'd bought some Lois Cords and split the hem to give them extra width over my new brand Diadora Borg Elite. The kangaroo leather made them feel like you were wearing gloves. Very handy if you had to avoid the police baton when needed (Newcastle springs to mind) or see off a mob at Euston.

Also the ubiquitous Kickers boot (or Noddy Boot) became a staple on the trotter front. The piece in The Face magazine that summer gave us the name Casual and it stuck. And Chelsea were fucking Casual.

We had the swagger that the clothes gave you the confidence to carry as we strode purposely around alien streets (do you want fruit in that bowl son?). We had the team that also had the swagger in abundance on the pitch for the first time since the early 70s and the fans turned out in droves at cities and towns such as Sheffield, Manchester, Blackburn and Derby.

No one came near us that season on the pitch, on the terraces and on the clobber front. I loved every second of that season, getting back in the local to give it large after an arduous train journey home from some hick town and people asking you how much the Fila Mohair Jumper you was styling was. (Though when my best mate bought an identical jumper I nearly cried, such was the individualist in us true dressers. He never did it again). The strive to be part of something but to be wearing something that no one else had was an unbelievably heady time to be young and alive. Chelsea got promoted as champions and the first game of the new season was Arsenal away. We had the whole Clock End and to me it was the defining moment of being a teenage Chelsea Casual. 15,000 crammed into that end alone and most of those golden faces were under 25 and wearing Armani to YSL.

When Kerry Dixon smashed one in the top corner, the whole end with scores amongst scores of Wedge haircuts, Lacoste and Fila Polo shirts and Fiorucci jeaned kids going absolutely barmy stays with me. (We drew 1-1).

As the season went on the clothes got more garish and colourful and I remember an ill-thought out outfit of an overhead Leather 3 coloured patchwork jacket, pink Pringle polo and Canary yellow cords worn with grey Trimm Trabs. No wonder the old man thought I was on the turn.

As the 80s progressed, the style sort of left me (though I was still sporting Adidas Trainers and Lacoste) as I started getting involved in bands. Then in 1990, a certain Massimo Osti came into my life and carried me back in, but that's another story.

Always wondered what happened to the kid in the Cashmere Pringle...

© Words Stuart Deabill / ZANI Media