Some people may think that Geordie Jeans is a figbox of Vic Reeves’ imagination.
There really was a brand of jeans called Geordie Jeans trading from a small corner shop in North Shields in the early 1980s, and yes, I owned several pairs of Geordie Jeans, and yes, they were especially tight around the arse, which was nice, however what the adverts never told you was that for gentlemen, being tight around the arse whilst being very nice also comes with a built in discomforter – they are also rather tight around the gentlemans private parts area, which makes for uncomfortable sitting down manoeuvres.
The Geordie Jeans shop did what it said on the tin, it sold jeans, by the shitload, on Saturday mornings you almost had to queue to get in the tiny shop, I say almost because it never quite got to that stage, but you get the message, why some busy Saturdays when I ventured to North Shields there could be up to four other people shopping in there, plus the twenty or so spotty youths who were employed on a casual basis to “advise ” you on your choice of jean, or jeans.
Not that there was much of a choice mind, this was the early 1980s and tight leg jeans were all that the Geordie Jeans factory would run up, and it saved on denim of course, so the only real choice that you had was from one of three patterns of stitching on the back pocket.
For a lad from the 70s like myself the very idea of wearing jeans so tight around the arse that horses would shy away in the street was an anathema, my choice of jean at the time was the very-bell-bottomed Wrangler, a jean so wide at the bottom that you had to shoo away whole families of refugees before you could wear them of a morning, my Wrangler very-bell-bottomed jeans provided much needed warmth and protection from the elements for homeless Vietnamese boat people for years.
And so it came as a huge shock to find myself stood in the Geordie Jeans shop one Saturday morning having been dragged there by my soon-to-be wife in the interest of “bringing you up to date”, I didn’t want bringing up to date I was quite happy living in the past (as Jethro Tull would have sung had he had a soon-to-be wife like mine who desperately wanted him to shed his 1970s garb) and mere minutes later I found myself walking the stiff-legged ambulation up Saville Street in the manner of someone who has just been wedged into a pair of jeans that are eight sizes too small for him.
“I can’t breath in these jeans” I’d say, which was the polite way of complaining that they were nipping my bollacks with every stride
“You’re keeping them” she’d say, “and no bringing them back for a refund on Monday when I’m at work” she knew me so well, even before we were married.
And so in this way the male population of North Shields and Whitley Bay were successfully neutered by the wearing of Geordie Jeans and for several years afterwards the maternity ward at Rake Lane remained empty, abandoned, unused, the midwives all laid off and sales of cots and prams devastated and it took a revival of the baggy-combat-pant-with-elasticated-ankle look so favoured by popular beat combo chart topping musicians of the mid-1980s to revive the regions sperm count to levels where reproduction became viable again.
Never again must the tight arse look be favoured among males.
Its ok for women though.
Not fat ones though.