There's nothing worse than red underpants.
When I was a child in East London, no boy, as far as I could determine, wore underpants bought from a shop. There was always a woman – maybe a relative, mother's friend or someone from mother's job - who came round to your house at about 7 o'clock midweek with two large carrier bags containing underpants, vests and socks. The origin of the underwear was never discussed, although it was understood that there were many different ways that clothing could walk out of a warehouse or jump out of the back of a truck. It was assumed that they were never seconds – although the elastic in some pairs did tend to get a little limp after a few months in the wash. Accordingly, prices were always considered to be better than in a shop, as in the title song for the British TV series "Only Fools and Horses" - no income tax, no VAT, no money back, no guarantee. Colour, for underpants and vests, was never an issue – it was always white. The material looked as if it was cotton. This experience determined my concept of the underpant. Later in life, I discovered that you could buy a mixed pack of underpants for a reasonable price, made out of something synthetic. Typically, you would get two white, two blue and two red, but never six white. You had moved out from home, and never saw the underwear woman again, so you bought the coloured collection. Wearing the red, however, was always a very reluctant choice – you wore them because you had no other colour available. While you are out on the street in red you always have to worry about having an accident or falling ill. After all, there's nothing worse than being taken to hospital in an ambulance wearing red underpants.
