ripped jeans

Posted by on Sep 12, 2008 in Uncategorized | No Comments

It’s a few years late, but I’ve finally got myself a pair of ripped-in-the-knee jeans. I’d had a day of not much direction and very little focus – going from errand to errand, which involved buying a new inner tube for my bike as my back wheel was so peppered with punctures it only seemed fitting to furnish it with a brand new inner tube (I even splashed out on the fancy self-repairing variety). After swiftly replacing it, I did a couple of hours procrastination (work) and then decided to go and pay a cheque into the bank.

Riding my fully pumped bike into town on a day with some rare sunshine, music in my ears and on a mission, things were great. Great until the back wheel of my bike decided to come undone and throw me over the handlebars in the middle of rush hour. I felt foolish and luckily unharmed. Please with myself that I had decided to wear my helmet on this outing, I picked myself up and got my steed ready to carry on the journey.

I thought nothing of my slightly grazed knee feeling until I locked down and saw the hole in my jeans’ knee and could feel a damp bit of blood. I didn’t want to look and felt it more prudent to just go home and forget about town.
Anyway – a long story later, it now means I’ve got a ripped pair of jeans, which make me feel like I should be in McFly or even Busted circa 2006.

On my way home I encountered a cyclist taking the route I just had, but he had no helmet and was beaming with cockish abandon with only one hand on the handlebar and his other hand resting on a jaunty 90 degree knee. He must have been a fairweather cyclist fuck face I decided with no regard for my tragedy, and merely rubbing my face further into the asphalt. Then to show me how cool I might now look I stood next to a man also clearly in his thirties while waiting to cross at a pelican crossing wearing a pair of purpose cut in the knee jeans. He seemed equally as smug as the fairweather cyclist fuck face, brandishing an empty Mc Donalds drinks cup, a topshop plastic bag (no doubt full of more cut-knee jeans) and ‘WE ARE THE SUPERLATIVE CONSPIRACY’ headphones (I don’t know why, but headphones made by a fashion label annoy me to buggery, but after reading WESC’s manifesto, I don’t care and think they are a way-cool brand that I might one day buy into. yeah. um what was I saying? Oh yes, and I wondered in a comedy fashion (high in the head from endorphins) – how do Topman or any other high street or high-fashion brand/label they get the hole in the knees? And why did someone think it be a good idea to pay a premium for? My favourite (only) pair of jeans were bust up and blood stained. Cool as hell.

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