I have always struggled with Summer Trousers.

Whenever I buy a pair, they tend to be too loose, too light or too tight; too crinkly or too creasy. They end up lurking at the back of my wardrobe - rejected, forgotten, unloved.

Nonetheless, with the return of warm weather, I resolved to have another go, this time visiting the place where I buy my suits, the traditional outfitters Cordings of Piccadilly.

On descending the carpeted stairs to the Men’s Department, I found a rack of trousers in a range of fabrics. There was corduroy, cotton and linen; moleskin, twill and chino – and in a host of colours. It was quite bewildering.

I decided to try on a ‘summer gabardine’, as it was signalling its seasonal appropriateness. Navy, just to be safe.

As I stood examining myself in the full-length mirror, still unsure about my selection, I was approached by a Mature Assistant, smartly dressed in a suit and tie, his hair slicked back with pomade.

‘Can I pin you up, Sir?’

‘Yes, absolutely. And while you’re at it, can you just tell me a little about this particular pair of trousers.’

As the dapper man set about the hems, he addressed me, polite and self-possessed, in a soft Cockney accent.

‘What you have here, Sir, is a summer gabardine. A lighter, functional, more technical fabric. Just right for the warmer months. It contains 2% elastane, which makes it crease less than cotton or linen. It’s more durable really. Retains its shape. An excellent choice if I may say so, Sir. I have a couple of pairs myself.’

I found this description entirely reassuring. I’d clearly chosen well.

‘Excellent. Yes, I think I’ll have these please. And actually I’ll also take a pair in khaki.’

You can learn a good deal about salesmanship by paying attention to traditional tradespeople. The Mature Assistant had gently bolstered my confidence and supplied me with a rationale. He made me feel like I was making an informed, intelligent choice.

Finally, as he was making out the docket to have my Summer Trousers adjusted, the Mature Assistant looked up at me.

‘If I may ask, Sir, what shoes will you be wearing with these trousers?’

‘Well, I guess just a pair of brogues.’ I replied hesitantly.

He wasn’t convinced.

‘That’s right, Sir. Loafers.’

'When he said,
When he said,
That he liked my cut of hair,
I became a barber.
When he said,
When he said,
That my scent was eau de fleur,
I became a perfumer.
When he said,
When he said,
That he liked the clothes I wore,
I became a tailor.’
Anaïs Mitchell, ‘Tailor'

No 581