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, 1 August 2013
And the Guardian's response is here (written by soi-disant "English Socialite" Henry Conway).
I haven't updated the blog for six months - mainly through good old-fashioned laziness, but perhaps also because I see fewer RTs on the streets these days. Perhaps it has had an effect...
But if the price of freedom (from red trousers) is eternal vigilance, I really ought to keep posting. I'll have a trawl through the inbox in the next few days.
Thanks again for all submissions, and apologies to anyone whose repeated pleas to remove the drunkenly submitted photo of their brother-in-law have so far gone unread.