Last night I watched some vintage Top of the Pops performances from 1979. It was, by and large, not a great year for popular music, but my goodness, how superior the trousers - and the wearing of them - was to today. Whether unbelievably tight drainpipes or flares, high waisted pleat-tronted or flat fronted suit trousers, every pair fitted its wearer to perfection. Ska, reggae, punk, soul; even the Nolan Sisters... not a single person was displaying any underwear, no waistband circled mid-buttock; no crotch hung at knee level and no hems trailed on the ground.
Whereas today, whilst enjoying a late breakfast at the A5 truckstop, a young herbert got up from the table he was sharing with two young ladies displaying not merely the usual unsavoury underpants, but a good seventy percent of his bare bum. It's lucky I was having the vegetarian breakfast or it might have quite put me off.