Holy trousers.

16

I have a hole in my jeans.

The typical hole you get in a pair of cheap jeans- right at the crotch. When I’m walking it’s not an issue, and when I sit at a café I can just swing one leg over the other. But my main worry is that I’ll be spontaneously invited to someone’s house for dinner- this happens reasonably often here.

You see, for dinner, you sit cross-legged on the floor and lean over to pick at the food. For a start I haven’t been able to sit cross-legged since primary school and when I attempt it now with my stiff, British legs contort themselves in the most unnatural fashion and after a while I have to shift up to put my elbow on the ground, like I’m pulling a sexy pose at the aubergines.

But now with the whole hole thing, if I get invited to dinner I’ll have to ask for a plus one for my good pal Calvin Klein, for I can’t really refuse an invitation and nor can I say “sorry no, look here at this hole, you can see my boxers!”. I suppose I could wear my chinos, but have you ever sat on a leather chair for nine hours on a warm bus wearing chinos? I have, it’s not too cool.

It’s the opposite in fact.