Boys in shorts: You’re not fooling anyone, we know you’re cold

Your hobbit feet aren’t cute either

Winter is here. Shorter days, Christmas lights, shit John Lewis covers of 90s classics. This is the inevitable sign of our great nation moving towards winter.

Crushingly rah, Durham refuses to bow to the pressures of seasons. A small group of us defy the drum-beat to winter and insist on speaking about Andy Murray even after Wimbledon.

Mere mortals like us may choose to wrap up warm, but these elites just laugh at full length jeans and closed-sole shoes. Without personal shame these heroes press on with the shorts and flip-flop combo. But it must end.

12188517_10205171251312100_467854489_nThere’s no reason why flip flops and shorts should be a thing post-October. It needs to end. Even though you could probably get away with it in Oxbridge, you’ve accepted a second rate Durham degree – alongside the Durham weather. Maybe accepting this fact will be signified by the dumping of these wavy garms. So man up and accept Winter like the rest of us.

Just because you had to work in 40 degree heat when you were building a new school house for the Ethiopian children during your gap yah. You’re in the North now. And not the “A party north of the river? I’m going to have to Uber it” North. No. This is Labour heartland North. These clouds don’t fuck about.


If you were channeling the surfer dude vibe, it hasn’t been in since people thought Gordon Brown was as bad as it was going to get. If you really want to commit to the image, you may as well go all in move to Jersey, dip yourself in orange tan and sign a ten series contract for a stale MTV show.

But conventionally you’re a rugby player dressed in stash who wants to show off his sexy cuts and bruises from a Wednesday afternoon. We know how much leg day sucks and that you want really to be complimented your sick gains, but please do the rest of us a service and dress like a normal person, at least until hypothermia isn’t a medical risk.

There is no body part more ugly than the fleshy flabby inside of a man’s thigh, where chaffing has worn away the hair. You know the bit, it looks like a close up of a Turkey before being roasted for Christmas.


You think you look good, but trust me, no one else thinks you do. Please, for your own sake put the Havaianas away and wear something that covers the shin. Unless that article of clothing in particular is an orange chino, then loss of limbs may be the preferred option.