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I’ve often wondered what possesses middle-aged men to abandon any sense of style and start buying cardigans and slippers. Do blokes wake up one day in their early forties and think “you know, I think it’s about time I started wearing brown clothes that smell of cabbage”?

Now, I will not sit here and pretend that I’m any kind of fashion expert. I think people who buy clothes because they are the “in” thing at the moment are idiots. Idiots who should be beaten to death with a cricket bat for being so shallow as to waste their money on things they will only wear once because it will be out of fashion as soon as they walk out of the shop.

Recently, however, I had my first insight into what may cause the more mature individuals in society to give up on their appearance. I believe it is born out of frustration.

You see I need some new jeans. I’m one of these people who will only buy new clothes when I actually need them. Consequently I haven’t bought new jeans for about two years and holes are beginning to appear in rather questionable places. So I reluctantly asked my beloved future wife to help me pick out a new pair because if I try going shopping on my own I tend to develop a headache and end up in the pub.

So we went out and she took me to a number of shops. Most of what she showed me I rejected straight away because I don’t believe in spending £100 on a bit of denim. Some of them had holes and tears in already so I rejected them as well. The few items I liked the look of were not produced in my size because the modern day trouser appears to be tailored towards fat dwarfs as opposed to lanky people like me who actually exercise and watch what they eat. More frustrating than all of that was the way that the fashion houses expect me to do up my trousers these days.

There have been some wonderful innovations over the years: Mobile phones; the Internet; mobile phones with the internet on them; microwaves; Velcro; the internal combustion engine; Concorde; laser eye surgery; the mute button; the Bugatti Veyron; crotchless underwear; zips.

Now, zips are a wonderful invention. They are highly under-rated. Zips were invented because they are easier to work and, when one is extremely drunk, a lot easier to undo on a pair of trousers.

You see I’ll be out in a pub, enjoying myself and getting through gallons of pints while I explain to everyone how hippies could be used as bullet shields in armed conflicts and why health and safety regulations are a bit like communism, when the inevitable call of nature will come. Obviously I will hold it in for as long as humanly possible because, as a bloke, I don’t want to be the first one to give in. However, there is a finite limit to how much one man can retain and, just before I suffer complete renal failure, I will have to excuse myself and run to the lavatory.

The first problem comes because most toilets in pubs only have 3 urinals and there will always be two people in there using the urinal at each end. Now, there are a few un-written rules when it comes to male toilet etiquette. Whereas women will quite happily go to the toilet in groups, holding hands, where they will do their makeup, gossip and share tampons, men are very different. Firstly, you never go in at the same time as a friend. Secondly, you never make eye contact with anyone. Thirdly, you never talk to anyone. Fourthly, when you are seeing how high you can spray up the wall, you either look up, down or straight ahead. You never look to the side. And you never, ever, under any circumstances, use the middle urinal when the other two are occupied. It’s advisable never to use the cubicle because drunken people have a tendency to shit on the ceiling.

So, after hopping around on one leg for what seems like an eternity waiting for the other blokes to empty the 20 pints they have held in all night and attempt to do up their buttoned jeans, I will finally get to the urinal. This is where problem two arises.

For some reason that defies all possible logic, manufacturers of jeans make the buttons so stiff it is impossible to undo them without lacerating your fingers. Also, they seem to make the holes half the size of the buttons, making the job of undoing them or doing them up impossible.

Just to add to these troubles, the amount of alcohol has rendered me mentally challenged and semi-paralysed from the head down. There is no way in God’s earth I’m going to get out of this with any dignity. So I’ll be there, fiddling around with my crotch and making obscene noises, scaring off all the other punters in the process, whilst I fruitlessly attempt to undo my trousers.

Fortunately this story does have a happy ending because, having almost ripped the trousers apart, I did manage to get my tackle out and empty the 100 gallons of beer before I passed out.

These are problems no 30 year old should have to face. Going to the toilet should only be embarrassing for people under the age of 4. Also, nobody should have to cut their fingers to pieces in order to get in and out of a pair of trousers. Oh and I would also like to point out that spending an unusually long time in the toilet, fiddling with your crotch and making obscene noises is something reserved for teenagers. And George Michael.

So this is a plea to all jeans manufacturers out there. Please, please, please stop making stupid trousers that are impossible to get into. Zips were invented for a very good reason. They replaced buttons.