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


On his way back from the Polo I'm told.


  1. Seems like a bloody nice bloke.

    1. I agree. A bloody, bloody nice bloke.

  2. Steve? Yes, he is!

  3. Yes, I agree. A bloody good bloke. Not a scoundrel by any means. No. Definitely not.

  4. A scoundrel? Oh no for sure. Rather a bloody, jolly good bloke. That is what I say.

  5. Spiffing. I think he looks like a spiffing, bloody, jolly, jolly, spiffing bloody nice bloke. And spiffing, bloody nice trousers too..

  6. Trouserer In The Rye17 August 2012 at 11:12

    Bloody good trousers to boot. Come on you reds!!

  7. Spiffing. Yes he is. Absolutely no doubt about this. A jolly spiffing bloke.