Interesting discovery today. I pulled out a shirt I’ve had for at least 15 years – a summery sort of shirt, from M&S, in a pleasing colour combination, of the kind of material which lasts for ever and washes like a rag. Ever aware of the growing girth, I tried it on more in the spirit of experimentation than anything else. Would it gape at the buttons? Crease unbecomingly across the back? Refuse to button all the way down?
No. None of these things. It looked exactly the same as it did the day I bought it. And it’s a size smaller than I would buy in M&S these days. And so I wore it and felt … thin. Thinner, anyway. And fifteen years younger? Perhaps.