I was talking to a friend of my son today who ripped his pants around the butt area while playing volleyball in school.
This reminded me of the time my class went swimming and somebody stole my trousers.
I think I was eleven or maybe twelve at the time.
We went on a school expedition to the pool so all my mates were there to see the show.
One of those 'mates' probably still has me 'strides' in his house somewhere.
Never mind, I'm over it now... practically.
The teacher had to give me a lift home in his new car with a towel wrapped around me for modesty. But modesty hadn't really prevailed back at the pool as I hunted for the missing article(s?) in the changing room.
Nobody helped me much in my search and everybody seemed to derive much outlandish enjoyment from the fact the I was wearing purple underpants.
I figured that I was in for a hard time when I turned up in school the next day but I was wrong, nobody even said a word.
In fact, many months passed and nobody ever again mentioned the purloined trouser incident.
I have to admit, I was impressed.
Apparently, what happens in the changing room stays in the changing room. Fun and Gaiety may be derived, from a lad's lost trousers, within the confines of the male changing area but outside of there, the subject was seemingly out of bounds.
Or so I thought.
One day, deep in the Summer holidays, I was arguing with my friend Steve out on the street - doubtless about some obscure rule of soccer. I was winning the argument hands-down when his little four-year-old brother, Gavin, suddenly and quite eloquently sprang to his defence.
"Shaddup you," he roared, "ya bleedin... 'Puppel Knickers'!"
These little things can scar you...