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.

Sunday, 12 August 2012

"Wouldn't go in there for a bit if I were you..."


  1. Rather red in the face, clenched fists, has he got a touch of the Plymouths!!!!
    (Plymouth Argyle = Piles) No wonder you should give 15 mins......

    1. I prefer 'Chalfonts' - Chalfont St Giles. He does look menacing. Did he thump the photographer?

    2. Rockfords or Nurembergs are my favourites

  2. His urgent vertical yellow braces, black belt, and tie's diagonal candy-stripes trisecting his placid blue shirt. Blocks of pink flesh and RTs capping and footing the piece. This man is a vision in geometric abstractionism of the De Stijl school: a living, breathing (and hopefully handwashing) Mondrian.