I am standing alone, surrounded by an assortment of cotton garments with only a young, blonde and trendy girl in her early 20’s for company.
I am a man in the midst of a mini mid-life crisis.
My entire life seems to be fuelled by life’s inevitable ageing process and the desire that we should remain bouncing happy souls leaping from one exciting trampoline to the other. I am 45. I don’t bounce. I more do an over enthusiastic rock star leap that is followed by a bend over, exhale of air and a realisation that both of my legs will no longer leave the ground at the same time.
‘No’ I say to no-one in particular. ‘I will not start moaning about what it’s like to grow old!’ I don’t want to end up becoming one of those people reminiscing about what is was like in the good old days. I’m still young! I must embrace it!
Listed on the Telegraph’s ’Top 40 signs you are having a mid-life crisis’ is such things as still going to festivals, buying an expensive bicycle and starting to dye your hair.
The day I start taking advice from the Telegraph will be the day I am officially in an end-life crisis. Who are these poor fools that make this tosh up. And anyway, I didn’t drive to the shops today in my two seater sports car, I walked! So I win.
Looking around I see a young man with his appropriately aged girlfriend looking at clothes. He starts by picking up various t-shirts that shout ‘crisis’ regardless of your age, luckily he is slowly directed to more suitable choices despite his protestations.
Is this what a mid-life crisis is truly about? Us older folk have either lost the partner in our life to provide some sense to our fashion choices, or have we lost the will to go out with them in the first place?
I look at the younger man and feel pity. ‘I am a man who makes his own choices!’ I roar with the loudness of a kitten with a sore throat.
As he passes me I can see the makings of a small beard, small clumps of growth in an otherwise barren landscape. I stroke my fulsome yet greying beard and think that the man, or should I say ‘boy’ is going through an early-life crisis by trying to be a man before he is truly ready.
All this pondering has still not lead to a decision and it’s a decision I must make today and one that could alter the course of my life, for I am a man in need of new pants.
The Telegraph does not offer me much assistance on the type of pant suitable for someone of my age but I take a punt and assume Mark’s & Spencer's would be the retail provider of choice. Conservative, middle England, ageing and suitably spacious.
There is something that is striking about M&S when you first go inside and it’s the absence of any notable stairs. Escalators yes, but stairs no. Top Shop seem to just have stairs, and H&M offer an escalator one way but stairs down again. It’s as if we slowly lose the urge to walk anymore for fashion. You know you are in a mid-life crisis if you are walking to get there, otherwise you're on the escalator to comfy, slow death.
I make my way up through the floors feeling unease as I pass every zipped, thick cardigan. I’m soon faced with an array of socks and a variety of briefs and trunks offering ‘comfort’ and a ‘cool and fresh’ range. Old people obviously like their private parts to be just like their eggs, and hopefully not hard boiled.
Who doesn’t want ‘fresh’ anyway? ‘Ooh look some un-fresh pants!’ I imagine the youngsters to say as they return from a festival on their overly expensive bike. Idiots.
My choice of colours seems to consist of various shades of grey and black with the odd purple strip or two thrown in. There also is a lot of white, which considering the leakage issue of the elderly seems like a risk.
Over in the corner an elderly couple are looking at the briefs. The gentleman looks in a state of true bewilderment whilst his wife proceeds to say things such as ‘you won’t want a waistband’ and ‘you want to make sure they have some give in them’. It genuinely looks like the only way to maker her husband smile would be to say ‘I’ve booked you in at the euthanasia clinic.’
It reinforces my belief that I am young. A mid-life crisis just shows that you're not prepared to give up yet. You're still embracing life over death, and whilst you might be closer to it you still aim to die in the arms of an expensive hooker with cocaine plastered over your rock-star leather jacket.
Rah! I am young and I’m going to defy you M&S! I am going to run down your escalator and make my way to the land of youthful wonder that is H&M!
Colour! There before me is tantalising colour! And jersey shorts offering all sorts of patterns. Even David Beckham, a mid-life crisis man if ever there was one, stands proudly in his elasticated waist and button fly. Ah yes the button fly, made for the young who have time on their hands from the need to urinate to actually urinating in itself.
I select carefully knowing that every woman will judge me the moment my jeans come down and plump for some ‘Evil Knievel’ style blue with white stars and some red and white ‘USA’ flag type jersey shorts. I even get some with little fox’s on as every woman likes a little furry animal in their life.
Readily armed I head back off home proud to have not fallen for the lure of old age just yet. I am full of vitality, vigor and youth. I am a festival going man with a new set of pants.
I get home. I try them on. They are not comfortable. I sigh.
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