I got up a little earlier than usual this morning. I had a meeting down in Exeter, and I needed to get myself across to Derby to catch the train. I put a suit on. I usually just wear smart trousers and an open collared shirt to work, but today I made the extra effort and put on a suit and a tie. I was feeling pretty dapper, to be honest.
"Looking good Billy-Ray".
"Feeling good Louis".
I met up with some colleagues at the office to share a car to the train station. As I stood by the car waiting to get in, I heard a slight popping noise. Wondering what that was, I looked down at my trouser leg, where the noise seemed to originate. On the side-seam of my right trouser leg, just below the pocket, I'd popped a stitch. As I looked, the stitching started to unravel.... and I started to have horrible visions about what this might look like by the time I arrived at my meeting in Devon.
I looked at what I had with me: amongst the post-it notes and flip-chart paper, I found some sellotape and attempted some emergency surgery....although it was almost immediately apparent that this running repair job simply wasn't going to cut the mustard.
We had some time in Exeter before the meeting, but rather than spend my time wandering around hoping to find a shop where someone might be able to stitch me up, I just wandered into John Lewis and bought another pair of ordinary work trousers; exactly the same as the ones that I wear every other day of the week. I then nipped up to the coffee shop to meet my colleagues. As I bought myself a coffee, I was complimented in the queue by one of the staff - a nice young lady, actually - on my shoes. "Very stylish," she thought. I immediately felt a little better about myself.
I mentioned this to my colleagues, who had been patiently waiting for me on the terrace outside, no doubt gently amused by the whole situation. "Well," said one, pausing to look me up and down, "She only noticed the shoes because your new trousers are too short".
It's a good job I don't take myself too seriously, isn't it?