From South Ken to Shoreditch, from Jermyn Street to Mare Street – these days anyone that’s anyone is wearing red trousers.

If you want your leg-coverings to let the world know that you’ve got a few quid and don’t care who knows it, or that you have some big ideas about what’s on at the ICA right now - or simply that you are completely insane (but in a mainly non-stabby way) - then you’d better get your wife or girlfriend to take those jeans and chinos down to the charity shop post-haste!

Because there’s only one type of trousers you’ll be wanting to wear, and that’s RED TROUSERS. In fact - if you can’t wear red trousers you’d be better off wearing NO TROUSERS AT ALL. That’s what I say.

Thursday, 28 June 2012

Nassau airport business class lounge


  1. Does that magazine actually exist? This is a photoshop fit-up surely?

    1. Rufus Red-Trouser13 August 2012 at 00:59

      Mr / Ms Anonymous: Presumably, you do not own a pair of red trousers. And, (in the extremely unlikely event you do), you refuse to wear them, probably.

      - Were the converse true, you would be aware of the existence of this august journal (and subscribe to it, most likely).

      Your Servant Always,

      Rufus Red-Trouser.

  2. Actually, I subscribe to its sister publication, Super-Duper Willy-Whooper Fucking Big Yacht, Yeah?