Unverified fact: Less textile is being used now than ever before on undergarments. Mind you, have you ever been to Howarth Parsonage (home of the Bronte Sisters, Yorkshire, UK)? Not only did they battle with consumption, relentless novel-writing and a loopy brother, but those frail bodies had to support vast swathes of cotton under-items. Marines carry less during combat missions. Queen Victoria - once described as a ‘house-brick on legs’,- was endowed with a 52” bust and waistline. Again, most of the inches were due to copious layers - she probably had ‘mourning’ bloomers, too, which added another good few yards. As a cure for depression, however, one could do a lot worse than shrouding oneself with fine, crisp, starchy Egyptian textile, the chaffing provides a timely distraction. It could open up a whole new approach for the talking cures (and ointment) industries. HRH’s bloomers fetched a tidy sum in a recent London auction, and are now used as a marquee at Glastonbury.

I’ve just returned from several lengthy trips, local, regional and global. My constant companion was a fine set of paper underwear. This affectionate partnership began many moons ago, during a long sojourn in Singapore. An uber-efficient sister-in-law confiscated - and destroyed - my dire cotton pants collection - dull, grey and baggy, but she is very kind (old joke), replacing them with a fine paper version. If any justice in the world my cotton lingerie should attract heritage funding, or win Turner prizes. Only 13 years later, did a whole new paradigm emerge which laid to rest my eco-guilt. Disposability, landfill or recyclability is not altogether certain with the paper creatures (some brands do, some brands don’t). I accidentally did my own laundry and washed an unused pair of paper pants - alors et barcarumba! Not only did they dry en vitesse, but they became softer and thus, more comfortable. Wondering what to do with this discovery (Royal Society paper next year), I’m planning the next long-haul trip with a rather natty objective. Research shows that no accolade stands for the longest duration one can go using just one pair of pants. Technically, they are no longer disposable, but legal reasons prevent me from shouting this from the rooftops. The travel-imagination is running riot - I might not manage any further than the village bus stop, Grenoble or Tashkent, but what a blast trying?

So, if you will excuse me, I’m off to pack my extra-space case with items never before allowed on voyage, (Wellington Boots, egg-whisks). I DO urge you to experiment and see how little room 15 or so paper pants consume, AND of course, one gains that void on the return journey, for souvenirs or gifts - foreign versions of wellington boots and egg-whisks, par example. It’s a life-style choice.

A final note, courtesy of HRH Queen Vic. Many stories abound of her donkey-rides around the suburbs of Cimiez. If true, I suspect that pained expression on the royal visage was not down to post-Albert grief, but -due to the starchy underthings - a need to apply copious amounts of tincture to the Royal parts. Ouch.