Why we should grin and (Paddington) bear it

Anyone seen the picture of Victoria Beckham posing for Vogue in her pink jim jams? If that doesn’t cause a major run on sensible nightwear then Delia’s allergic to blueberries.

I’m impressed. Really. I want those PJS. I don’t care if they are actually daywear pieces from Victoria’s own Resort ’18 collection and the shirt costs an eye-watering £775, I’m wearing them to bed. Or to tee-off at St Andrews Old Course.

In fact, wouldn’t it be so much better and far less intimidating if all celebrities showed us their little loungewear secrets?

You know, Claudia Winkleman curled up in a dormouse onesie, Huw Edwards draped in a woolly Welsh Mountain bed jacket, Alexa Chung carefully wrapped in chamois leather.

In the interview Victoria has, astonishingly, been persuaded to speak about her Spice Girl fashion faux pas; tourniquet-tight dresses, more slap than a night at Madame Jojo’s, her hair styled by committee.

It’s a milestone, as she is always distancing herself from her glitzy early pop career, possibly because she felt it didn’t sit well with her sophisticated reincarnation as a chichi designer.

I can empathise having once appeared on Woman’s Hour to talk about the sartorial blunders of my youth. I refused to acknowledge there were any. None. Not one.

Of course that was a fib because leg warmers do not go with corduroy skirts and there was that jumble sale striped dressing gown I was in such a hurry to wear on a Goth night out, I omitted to wash it and came out in a rash and a vomiting bug. But without photographic proof, who’s to say they really happened?

There are thousand of pictures of Victoria however and there’s something heartwarming about hearing her affectionate self deprecation. Especially while dressed in a pair of pink golfing pyjamas.