In my world, there is a direct line from that image depicting a goodly chunk of Welsh mountain to my current situation as a pantless man. Although, a quick scan of this office-based Al would suggest all is present, corporate and correct.
You would need to move a little closer to notice the shirt monogrammed with coffee stains, after an incident invoving a value bucket of Starbuck’s finest and a lack of small motor control. And it would be an uncomfortable and frankly invasive examination for a work colleague to declare “That man over there? The one supposedly in charge? He is inappropriately attired between trouser and willy”
But they’d be absolutely knob on correct, and here’s why. After the sun beat down and the rocks beat upwards on five hours of big hill action, my little brain was both addled and battered. And the whole 6:30am buggeration of attempting to excavate my commuting bike from the detritus of once cherished frames short circuited the part marked common sense.
It’s not a very big part, but it is responsible for co-locating me and my shit when it comes to commuting collateral. And because it took me three attempts to leave the house – first rucksack and then helmet failed to be collected before pedalling off – it wasn’t an enormous surprise to find myself staring in a bag containing exactly no pairs of strides.
At times like this the Internet offers the type of sartorial advice that can get a chap through a difficult experience. My question “Are suit trousers better worn with slightly sweaty cycling lycra, or is the solution to abandon underwear completely giving the old fella freedom of the trouser?” was met with the unanimous recommendation of “Free Willy”*
All was well except for inadvertently exposing myself to the entire post room, and a slightly unpleasant feeling of *ahem* “skin” on wool. Flashed me right back to those happy days in Yorkshire when men were real men and sheep were real frightened.
Still after missing my mouth by miles with a hot beverage, I am considering just stripping off completely to avoid further wear on tear on what remains of my clothing. It’s not the first time this has happened, and it’s unlikely to be the last.
* Although not the sequel, that was rubbish.