Many moons ago, I had a truly horrible pair of shorts, made from a material like tracksuit bottoms. (proper tracksuit thing, not like a shell suit look) They were scraggy, and had paint over them from some ill-advised decorating attempt or other. (Don’t ask) I used to wear them on slobbed-out evenings when I wanted to just sit down and fuck about on a computer, or whatever.

In short (pardon the pun) they were great for just being scummy and slacking out. And for that they were great. They died the death a few years ago – in fact I’m not even sure Herself ever saw them – and I’ve never got round to replacing them. In most of that time, I haven’t even missed them.

This week, though, I have. I’ve been working in the hotel room, and I would have loved to be able to just put on my scabby old shorts. Just to be crunched out and comfortable for a while, if utterly unpresentable in public – that would’ve been really nice.

So yes, I’ve missed my scabby old shorts, and I’m even thinking about buying some nasty pair of cheap-ass shorts if I have to keep on doing this working away from home lark…