Jeans, please

Just two pairs of jeans infiltrate my closet, one of which fits perfectly. With the other pair, I struggle to get them past my knees, because they’re so old nowadays, and I’ve grown so much since I first purchased them.

Also in my almost-empty wardrobe are a dozen pairs of tracksuit bottoms. Unfortunately, these are thick, hot, worn out, full of holes and stained with stubborn, irremovable, white marks. So I don’t think I’ll be wearing them.

I remember that fateful day, two summers ago, when I climbed a sloping surface that formed a part of Portsmouth’s main swimming centre, the Pyramids, and slid back down on my backside. Of course, the sloped surface, being rough and slightly jagged, tore a huge hole in the trousers I was wearing. I had to walk home like that, with my boxers on show.

I think I need some new clothes.