Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start. Oh Julie, you are, as always, so right.
Packing.
There is a short list of things that I decided many years ago were essential, whatever the holiday destination. From work trip to country weekend to beach, there are a couple of things that I always find I need, or rather, that I feel a bit panicky without. These things, since you ask so nicely, are as follows: some kind of massive pashmina, (this is in fact my comfort blanket, airline pillow, extra jumper and cuddly toy all rolled into one). (Although I actually quite object to wearing one in the evening as it makes me feel slightly like I’m in too flimsy an outfit at a wedding. In Surrey.) Lavender oil, (to make my pillow smell like home) (I’ve gone a bit pillow-centric here, but bear with me) a gallon of moisturiser and a pair of jeans (or, if you’re feeling fashion today, a jean). You can travel in them, they knock the edge off your oh I’m not sure now new holiday top and if your beach based Easter break that was supposed to get you away from the biting, trying to hurt you cold in England, turns out to be not that warm either they will keep you cosy while you saunter casually up to the bar and order yourself a another medicinal whiskey.
How then, what with these strict rules and everything, did it come to pass that I ended up in the Canaries with no jeans? Error.
But in every mistake lies an opportunity and all that and this, I felt, was just the time to indulge the white jean fetish that has been gently growing inside me for about four years. (I am not one of life’s fast learners).
The issue I have with white jeans is that they also look a little bit Euro Sloan. Or, when worn in combination with any cashmere item, a little bit Yummy Mummy. I do not pass judgement on these looks and yet, they are not the ones I aspire to. Despite this, my yearning for a pair was growing as they would, I fancied, turn me into a cool French girl in a band a la Charlotte Gainsbourg. Now that is a look I can aspire to. Please.
Well, as with so many questions, Zara was the answer. I’m in the middle of nowhere currently and the shopping opportunities are few but if I know anything I know that there’s always a Zara. So quick shopping trip done and white jeans in hand, or rather, on slightly goose pimply legs and I’m gonna tell you what I’ve learned.
Number one, go up a size. White jeans should not be skin tight. This, from a girl who lives in skinninest skinnies.
Number two, roll them up a bit. Simples, but makes all the difference.
Number three, know that you do indeed now look a little bit Euro-sloany and a little bit Yummy Mummyish and not at all really like you edit French Vogue, but stop caring. Just stop.

Walk your warm legs to the bar and get the whiskies in.