All of my 32” waist jeans are becoming a chore to deal with. And by ‘deal with’, I mean ‘pull up past my thighs’. On the miraculous off-chance that I do manage to hoick them up to my waistline, no amount of sucking my stomach in helps to get the fastening button across.
I don’t whether it’s anything to do with added fat or unused muscle tissue around my upper legs and midriff, or whether my hips have decided to get a bit wider in preparation of all that childbirth I’m physically incapable of, but there’s one big inescapable fact I’m having to come to terms with. My waist is now a 34.
I wish I could mourn the wardrobe shelf full of trousers, but really I’m just annoyed that replacing them with those of a marginally larger waistband will cost me. I’m not exactly emotionally attached to my pants – I don’t have fond memories of wearing this blue pair to someone’s birthday or wearing that black pair to a gig.
That said, no doubt I’ll hoard them for some sense of sentimentality, despite (a) them not being fit for purpose any more, and (b) not really having the space to store them. There’ll be no sorrow or disappointment in not being able to wear any of them again. They’ll simply exist, ever-present in my peripheral vision whenever rummaging through clothes to wear on any given day.
Eventually, they’ll probably make their way into a black bin bag – alongside T-shirts that have become too small in comparison to my constantly growing torso – to drop off at some form of charity shop or another, imbuing me with the sense that I’m a great and noble person doing good deeds for the advancement of my fellow man. The fact that it would’ve taken me so long to get round to it will be lost on me, I’m sure.
It took a while to grow on me, sure, but with the context of the full album behind it now (or maybe because it’s the most recognisable from the album), this is well and truly on the list of great tunes for me this year. Throw in some of those eccentric floaty dance moves and you’ve got a hit on your hands, my friend.
Trying to get out more, whether on my own or not (although most likely on my own anyway), I’ve found myself becoming excited at seeing the band in a live capacity later this year. No doubt this will form some kind of centrepiece, if only slightly ruined by the mishearing of ‘Honda’. We don’t all have a Honda; I for one can clarify I have a 2016 Vauxhall Corsa.
Florence + the Machine – Hunger
Jamie Walsh 
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