One thing lockdown has taught us is the value of small things: gratitude, goodness, hope, embracing the universe – stuff like that. Those things are all very well for high-minded people but I’m a shallow person and I’ve abandoned such noble sentiments and turned to the mundane.
I have come to value things like treacle toffee, Jammy dodgers and a fire at night. To that list I
have added other things, and highest on it are trackie bottoms, those ugly, pull-on jersey trousers. In these strange times I have embraced them.
Near the top 10 of small pleasures is that of taking off trousers that are just that little bit too tight (trousers have to really fit to look their best ) and putting on baggy, comfy ones; it’s a joy that can’t be underestimated.
I’m not the only one who has discovered this; some people go a step further and as soon as the evening meal is eaten they slough off daytime clothes and ease gratefully into PJs and dressing gowns. Pre-lockdown there was always the uncertainty that the next door neighbour might be popping round to borrow a cup of sugar but now we know there will be no random visitors, and although I shan’t name and shame, I know women who release the catches on their bras come 7 o’clock to aid comfort further.
Our grandmothers wore corsets; our mothers girdles. They never knew the freedom that came from expanding into an elasticated waistband, the joy of breathing out fully, the knowledge that a rounded stomach is okay because only those nearest and dearest will see it.
Are we all slopping about or is it just me and my friends? Could everyone in the country be doing this? Is the Queen kicking off her heels, peeling off her tights, pulling on trackie bottoms and sinking onto the sofa in her slippers? Perhaps not. It smacks too much of letting go, sloppiness, slovenliness, laxity and indiscipline when what could be needed at this time might be a stiff upper lip – and firmly held-in stomach. Trackie bottoms and undone bras could be the beginning of the end of civilisation as we know it …
