I’m not usually one for lurid confessions, but I think I’m ashamed of my pants drawer.

With Penelope Cruz’s directorial debut for Agent Provocateur comes further proof of something I always suspected: I am an underwear oaf, a smalls slob. Is everyone else dressed like Irina Shayk in that film? All satin waspie and a sexy Soviet army hat? (No, I don’t understand the relevance of this, either.)

I think I’m doing something wrong. I didn’t know what a waspie was until about six months ago. I like things with gussets and padding. I wear greying baggy crotch hammocks rather than tight shiny things with lace on them.

I tried them, years ago, when I thought they were mandatory; I felt like they were cutting off the circulation to my brain.

But I feel increasingly alone on this. I mean, I always feel alone but that’s just because I’m neurotic. Now I feel alone because I’m worried that I’m the only person left in the world wearing terrible pants. Can it be true?

I’m so lackadaisical about underwear that I actually forgot to take any on a hen weekend recently. Don’t worry – I do normally wear it, but bringing any with me just slipped my mind. And that fact afforded me some snooping rights on the habits of others, I must say.

‘Oh you can borrow these,’ my friend said, pinging over a pair so pretty and lacy-delicate that, had they belonged to me, I would have saved them exclusively for wearing in my own biopic or in my casket. ‘And, er, I don’t need them back.’

To so flippantly bestow some lovely pants on me! I was impressed. I realised it must mean that these weren’t even the *nicest pair that she owned*. That her pants drawer must be full of even more frilly, feminine and fluttery briefs, all nestling together like little fairy knickers.

My pants drawer is more of a no man’s land. Quite literally, because no man would enjoy being in there. It’s full of sturdy and reliable, practical stuff that covers everything and is about as form-flattering as a blackout blind.

Perhaps I need to try harder. In my defence, I throw out the ones that develop holes and I keep them all clean. They’re just… perfunctory. Have I missed the point of pants?

Baby steps perhaps. I’ll start with a Soviet army hat and work up to a waspie.