TOMORROW I will be doing something I have hardly ever done before in my whole life.

I’ll be wearing a hat.

It will be for my late friend, John Forster.

His family want mourners at his funeral to bring along a hat in memory of a man whom I never saw without one.

Aside from his insatiable zest for life, John’s taste in quirky hats and other colourful and unconventional clothes was his greatest trademark.

I’ll probably also choose not to wear a suit to his funeral, because I never saw John in a suit, either.

If it was good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.

I barely own a hat, so will have to resort to a souvenir cricket hat I bought at Lord’s, but happily John was a fan himself, so would have doubly approved.

Because I’m a scruffy devil, I am more than happy to dress down, but I have never been able to keep abreast of fashion, either, so have long since given up trying to dress to impress.

And because I think life can be awkward enough, I avoid wearing anything I feel uncomfortable in, just to satisfy others’ arbitrary, illogical and outdated dress codes.

I have somehow managed to get to 55 years old without ever wearing a dinner jacket, for instance, and no matter what event I might get invited to in the future, I will politely decline if it means I have to dress myself up like a penguin.

These days I only wear a suit and tie to weddings, some funerals and job interviews.

In the unlikely event that I ever have another interview to go to, I might just turn up in smart-casual dress instead, to see whether the interviewer’s philosophy on life matches my own, and therefore whether we can work together.

My friend’s death was untimely, but the debate over what we wear could hardly be more topical.

I was even intrigued to find an entrepreneur on the latest episode of Dragon’s Den excusing himself for not pitching in a suit, arguing that that just wouldn’t be him.

I would have seen his honesty and free spirit as far greater assets than the ability to put on a suit.

As if to underline the point, last week there was a letter in a national newspaper on much the same subject, but inspired by the controversy over the wearing of burkinis on French beaches, and a wider argument over dress defined by culture and religion.

Its writer pointed out that if we are to be wary of people based on their attire, then we might want to consider suits.

He said it was a man in a suit who sacked him without warning, and then he went on to list countless other bad things that men in suits had done, from bankers causing recessions to others instigating “illegal” wars.

On this evidence, he suggested, suits should be banned.

He certainly had a point, and if you think about it, there are a bunch of other people whom we are instinctively wary of, and yet we somehow trust them implicitly, just because they put on a suit.

I’m thinking of lawyers, estate agents, second hand car salesmen and the worst of all the world’s suited rogues, politicians.

The older I get, the less inclined I am to trust people who dress and act according to pointless convention, rather than showing their true colours.

So if you wear whatever you like and even if you choose to wear nothing at all, then good luck.

Whether or not I am wearing one, I take my hat off to you.