Suits project confidence and capability. At least they are supposed to. They square the shoulders, add symmetry to the body, and hide the less-desirable parts of your physique. They tell people you know what you are doing. You are in control.

In exchange for these gifts, the suits asks very little. You are not supposed to be clumsy in a suit. You are not supposed to be dumb. If and when you violate these rules the suit betrays you utterly.

Case in point. We were at a gas station in Hofn and I was filling the tank. I was distracted. When done filling I placed the green petrol 95 pump back in its place. Only then did I have the nauseating realisation that I had just filled our diesel rental car with regular gasoline.

It was Sunday. It was also Fisherman’s Day, a holiday at Hofn. Screwed.

We spent the next three hours going through the long ordeal to fix things. Fix them we did, but the psychic scars will last longer. I must tell you it is harder to inform the station attendant what you have done when wearing a three-piece suit. It is harder to laugh it off with the kindly mechanic who left his family on a Sunday to help. It is even harder to tell the DIY farmer you are staying with. On that last point Yvette helped.

My humiliation is documented below. Shoulders sag, hands in pockets like a schoolboy and I mostly look at the ground - projecting confidence!