The hotpants are in the building
Don’t fear – I’m not about to blab on about how to wear hotpants – this is more focused on those moments when the urge to reach for a Jack Daniels and coke, dance on tables and blow smoke rings in a non-smoking zone is a necessity.
This weekend I found myself in London at a lunch surrounded by some of London’s great and good. The woman sitting next to me (famous UK columnist for daily newspaper) asked what I did (when did we start asking this question again without shame?) and I replied that I did some writing.
She naturally asked what about, and I replied “mainly fashion.” After contemplating my answer for a few minutes and helping herself to another (sizeable) glass of wine, she turned back to me and said, “but what do you really want to do with your life?”

My ‘career’ made completely irrelevant in a blink of an eye by this woman naturally made me feel instantly rebellious. The problem was that I was dressed for what I thought would be a sedate Sunday lunch and not up to rock and roll standards, which is why, girls - my advice to you all this this.
Next time you think you might be sat next to a tricky woman or have a run-in with somebody not known for his/her compliments (or respect), what you need is a pair of hot pants, preferably red, and preferably leopard printed.

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