I wore lots of clothes. Which were all different colours.
This would have been much more effective (and colourful in a totally tasteless wacky kind of way) had it been an intentional wearing of lots of colours, but it wasn't. Disappointingly it all came about as the result of a practical necessity.
With the advent of recent chilly weather (quite frankly it's been bloody freezing) my flat has once again assumed sub-zero conditions. In time honoured tradition (every winter I've lived in it) I unpacked the blankets, furry slippers, furry PJ jackets and my indoor hats, fingerless gloves and scarves (yes, I actually own these items specifically to wear whilst sat on my sofa indulging in the seasonal entertainment of comparing the steam coming from the cup of tea almost permanently clamped in my mitts to the breath I'm breathing out condensing in the frigid air in front of me).
Anyway, Bernie came over and we decided to watch a Christmas film or two (stop right there with the disapproval, there was one on the TV which I considered official permission to proceed) so we both got wrapped up in multi-layer (and coloured) insulation (believe it or not the central heating was actually on all day too) which in my case included my 'Frankenpants'.
In the rain.
The frayed bits and previous repair didn't take kindly to this careless treatment and by the time I got home my trousers looked suspiciously like I'd borrowed them from Bruce/David Banner after he's resumed his own form. So, after some pretty major surgery the legs are now held together (just about) with zig zag rows of stiches all over the place - although some minor surgery is still required.