Evidence that sometimes it's best to stay unfashionable

‘Wide leg trousers’ said the display.

I looked down at myself. ‘Yep, wide legs.'

I know wide-legged trousers are in fashion. Every Facebook or Instagram ad features a woman with legs four metres long and trousers flapping.

It’s not often I’m in fashion. Perhaps this was my chance.

I lifted a pair from the rack. At first, I thought I’d picked up two or three pairs by mistake, they weighed so much, with enough material to make curtains and a double duvet cover and still have enough to run up a small tent.

I put them back on the rack and browsed the rest of the trouser section to see if something less extreme was available.

‘Slim fit.’

‘Narrow leg.’

‘Tapered.’

‘Snug fit.’

‘Tight fit.’

‘Pressure bandage.’

‘Tourniquet.’

I trudged back to the wide legged ones. Having the breath squeezed out of you by a pair of trousers is no way to die especially when you want to be remembered for exquisite prose or poetry that moves the soul.

I picked up two pairs, not sure which size would fit me, and folded them over my arm.

I say ‘folded’. How can I describe this experience for you? Imagine you’re at the coast and you pass someone who’s just bought a full set of sails for their yacht and is about to fit them. ‘Here, hang on to these for a moment,’ they say.

I made my way to the changing room, peering over my burden and calling ‘Wide load! Wide load!’ to avoid collisions with people who can wear Tourniquet without their lips going purple and their eyes bulging.

‘How many items do you have there?’ said the woman in charge of the fitting room, examining her numbered tags and no doubt wondering if she had one that said 24.

‘Two,’ I said.

Her eyebrows doubted me but she passed me a 2 tag.

In the cubicle, I hung the two pairs of trousers up, effectively redecorating its walls, and slipped out of my own trousers.

I was pleased to find that the smaller size fitted me around the waist and hips so I didn’t need to try the bigger pair.

However, after that, forget the concept of ‘fitting’. As wide as my own little plump legs are, the material of the trouser legs didn’t touch them. In fact, I’ve never worn trousers which seemed so anxious to get away.

I examined myself in the mirror to see if I had been transformed into someone beautiful with legs four metres long.

I know, right?! Shock news!

Still, I needed new black trousers and it was either these or being murdered by elastane.

I gave the changing room attendant the bigger size to hang back up. I hoped she’d kept up her gym membership.

‘Do you need a bag for these?’ said the man at the till.

‘It’s okay,’ I wanted to say. ‘I’ve an articulated lorry picking me up so that I get home safely.’

‘Yes, please,’ I said instead, and watched him expertly fold the trousers into it as though he’d worked with yacht sails all his life.

My new black wide-legged trousers are hanging on the back of the bedroom door right now, unworn as yet. I’m not sure I dare climb back into them. They intimidate the room rather, like one of those huge security men who stands outside Wetherspoons with his chin jutting forward as if to say, ‘You just try it. Go on. Go on.’