It's in the Jeans.

As somewhat of a fashion guru, in my own imagination. I was a little annoyed recently when a so called expert intoned on BBC Radio that men over the age of thirty should never wear jeans. Many long standing acquaintances of mine actually believe that I was delivered attired in said garments.

Now I have to admit that my thirtieth year came and went quite some time ago, an occurrence incidentally that my wife insists that I have never fully recovered from, so obviously I must have been offending this member of the Stasi Fashion Police for a good few years.

However I was so incensed with the cheek of this statement that I felt compelled to call a special meeting that evening of the "Men of a Certain Age- Wharfedale Chapter".
Just for convenience this was held at the local pub.

Six of my tennis playing compatriots thus turned out at very short notice, proving once more how supportive, loyal and bored they all are.

I quickly noted that four of them plus myself were sporting jeans of varying styles and was about to vent forth in a tirade against the fashion spokeswomen whose comments earlier in the day had generated this get together when I realised that she may have had a point.
Spicer is six feet six inches tall and out of an act of politeness and friendship I accept his word that he weighs no more than seventeen stone. He carries it in the main well for he is an all round big man, but I realised that evening that he was too all round and big to suit denim.

I viewed Biddercome. He is a short person but not only that, his legs are actually his shortest bit, his dedication to researching gastronomically the full English breakfast for his literary debut necessitated jeans of a fuller nature and to be honest at close inspection they proved a tad un-flattering.

Morgan is a slightly taller version of Biddercome and I noted that his variant of the popular leg wear resembled the bottom half of a plumber's boiler suit and Winston, he is an accountant, I was shocked to discover had actually ironed creases into his iconic symbol of cool.

Thinking quickly I expertly began a heated debate about Gordon Brown , the credit crunch, the escalating cost of fuel, the barmaids low cut dress, global warming and just to keep Biddercome interested Cumberland Sausage.

Thus they never suspected my real reason for the gathering.
As I wound my way back home that evening after several beverages I began to worry and reflected upon my findings. Was the judgement of the Radio fashion expert a universal truism or was it just my friends, but not necessarily me, who looked unbecoming in jeans.

What if it was a universal truism? What would I wear? Could you still buy cavalry twills?

Fate then stepped in as a bus passed by with a poster on its side advertising the "Rolling Stones" new album. There in all his bejeaned glory was Mick Jagger, if faded holey denims were good enough for Mick then they were certainly good enough for me. Thus my wardrobe was saved.

I do have to confess however to averting my eyes from Keith Richards and Charlie Watts, but needs must. Trousers are very expensive.