It’s the late 80s at a primary school in Colwyn Bay. We’re halfway through lunchtime and I’m doing a headstand against the wall while little feet run up and down the lawn in front of me. My technique is strong. I am well-balanced and I can stay upside down for quite a while before I get dizzy. I’m not, however, focused. I’m conscious that the skirt tucked into my knickers will unravel and expose said knickers to all and sundry. And I’m not even sure I’ve got the right day of the week printed on the front of them. What I need, I think, are a pair of those shorts that look like a skirt that my mum’s mate’s daughter had on the other day…
Culottes! They’re back. BIG. TIME. Only this time they’re long. And wide.
I’ve seen them on the train, in my office and wandering around the streets of Farringdon. Each time they have looked different. That’s what is so brilliant about these babies; you can wear them so many ways. I like the trainers and loose t-shirt look on other people but I already know it wouldn’t work on me. I have big boobs, therefore I need to emphasise my waist so as to not look like a brick. I am thinking ultra classy; a pair of high-waisted numbers with a fitted top and heels.
I have only tried one pair on and I loved them. Instantly. This never happens. It must be a sign. They’re from Cos and come in black, navy or green. They have wide legs, a dropped crotch and a high waist with pleats, plus a detachable tie. They are completely unlike any other pair of trousers I own. They are SO on the lust list.
