Twenty five years ago I was an idiot. A job, for a fashion writer in London – an occupation I had no experience of – was advertised in The Guardian newspaper.

I didn’t apply. After all, fashion and I were as distant as Auckland, New Zealand and Lerwick, Shetland. But six weeks later I did.

By then they’d interviewed, selected and offered. And in fact the very day before I rang, they’d offered the job to their top two choices, both of whom turned them down.

But six weeks and one day after the advertisement appeared, I rang.

Clearly they were miffed – all that work and still no writer – so against every rule in the book, they said ‘come up’.

I did, but because I couldn’t afford a suit, I borrowed a friend’s. Except, with minutes before I had to catch a train to London, I realised he was a good 12 inches shorter than me.

The whole way to the Big Smoke I stretched the legs, the sleeves, and practised walking with a stoop. But to no avail. My socks showed and so did my elbows.

When I arrived at ‘Men’s Wear’ magazine’s offices in Swiss Cottages, I was smothered by beauty and grace. And when I walked into the editor’s office the humiliation didn’t stop there.

“Good God,” he said (and this was his welcome) “you’ve got some nerve turning up like ******* Norman Wisdom. I’ll give you 30 days so you’ll have to give up your full-time job, but if you’re any good I’ll hire you.”

I stayed four years.

Why is this relevant? Well last week was Oxford Fashion Week, I was very privileged to attend most of the events.

Finally, at last, this initiative, masterminded by Carl Anglim, is beginning to catch fire, and as someone with his nose pressed up against the window, I could only look on in awe and resentment.

However, it did strike me once again that as famed screenwriter William Goldman once said (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, All The President’s Men): ”Nobody knows anything...” Because it’s true.

Who, genuinely, is to say that a garter belt made out of sticky-back plastic doesn’t tap into the Zeitgeist? And that reminded me why I love fashion so much – because it’s constantly in motion.

You see, if you accept that change is the one thing in life you can rely on, it actually becomes comforting, reassuring and emboldening.

Which is why this morning, early as it is, I feel re-energised.

Ninety per cent of the clothes I saw were as unpractical as flip flops in Merton Street (it’s cobbled), but what mattered was, and is, the ‘engine’ that drove that inspiration.

Without that, we’d still be in bear skins.