DOWNFALL IN THE CITY

Now that I’m older I am, thankfully, spared the embarrassments of my youth. Example - as a naïve 15 year old my suspender belt elastic broke as I stepped from a busy commuter train at London Bridge Station in the rush hour. The weight of my stockings and the act of walking slowly dragged the suspender belt down from my waist, over my hips and down my thighs, bringing with it my stockings and, of course, my knickers. Knickers in those days were not the frilly bits of lace that they are now. No, they were Bridget Jones type “big knickers”. Nothing glamorous in that.

The horror of it is impossible to describe. In the middle of a jostling, rushing crowd of sophisticated “City folk” was this poor little girl trying to balance on one leg, pull off a stocking, the other leg, pull off a second stocking whilst attempting to palm the offending knickers and suspender belt without anyone seeing. My nightmare was everyone else’s hilarious story.

Would I be embarrassed now? You bet, but I like to think that I would handle it better, throw my knickers in the air and cheer. At least it would get me the attention I crave for.