One thing a fear of ageing can bring is a paranoia about wearing anything ‘comfortable’.
I’ve stuck to my skyscraper heels and tight jeans and shunned Uggs and jogging bottoms because I’m worried the softening of my silhouette would mark the end of my youth.
But this winter has finally defeated me, at home at least — after one beautiful, fuzzy-warm night sleeping in thermal leggings and T-shirt I can see no way back to slinky nighties.
Not while there’s an ‘r’ in the month anyway.
To be fair, thermals have come a long way. They’re not the ugly, shapeless passion-killers of old — these days the effect is more like a soft woollen catsuit. And the joy of such all-encompassing comfort is unsurpassable.
I do draw the line at this year’s craze, the slanket, though — the sewn-up blanket with holes for limbs is too close to Billy Connolly’s “big slipper” to leave any of your dignity intact, girls.