It really is all in the jeans...

The jeans in question were perfect for my lunch date: Dark blue boot-cut with a low-rise waist, they were going to look great with a slinky top and fitted jacket.

The fact that they didn't actually fit was a minor detail. My plan was to winch myself into them once I got home. Then I would wear them to bed that night and wake to find them moulded to my shape.

It sounds ridiculous now, of course. But in the days before denim met Lycra, you had to show some cunning if you were a big girl who wanted to look good in jeans. Yes, I could do the flies up in the size 18 pair. But I knew the fabric was such that they would be baggy and shapeless within hours.

At least this way I could guarantee a good fit. But getting the size-16s on in the first place turned out to be no mean feat. First, I walked around my bedroom with the fly open for 15 minutes, to stretch the material. Then I lay down on the bed and managed to wedge the zip up a little.

This carried on for at least an hour, with the zip going up a few millimetres each time. It took another 30 minutes to get the button done up and I nearly broke a nail in the process. But I'd done it and after congratulating myself on my perseverance, I went to bed early, skipping supper.

When I woke the following morning, my stomach looked like it had been garroted with an elastic band — there was a huge, angry red track round my middle and seam marks on my legs. I took the torturous jeans off to have a shower. But the thought of squeezing back into them was so unbearable, I admitted defeat and wore a pair of loose linen trousers on my date.

Jeans and I have long had a difficult relationship. But the final straw was a humiliating trip to Evans, where all the jeans in my size had elasticated waists. Designer jeans were another no-no. I was desperate to have the right emblem on my back pocket. I arrived at Selfridges ever-hopeful, only for a sales assistant to tell me designers don't cater to "big girls". Then the god of thin people came up with skinny jeans. I didn't even bother trying them. Worse still, the low-rise skinny.

All in all, it was enough to send me back to good old Marks and Spencer. But it was there that I finally had my Eureka moment. Recently, in Per Una, I discovered a pair of high-waisted stretch jeans, which were fashionable and fit me like a glove.

My first impressions of them on the hanger were of the styles my mother used to wear in the Eighties. But when I tried them on, I was converted. The waist sat in the right place, so no muffin top, my hips were smoothed, my bottom looked big buttoned and the boot-cut was slimming. I was so impressed that I rushed out of the changing room and almost hugged the sales assistant.

My favourites include Not Your Daughter's Jeans. When I wear them, friends ask if I have been going to the gym. Another is Glamour 24/7 Wizard Jeans, as they stretch but keep their shape. As for this season's jeggings, I might just be able to get away with them if I wear them with a dress and knee-high boots but that's another trauma — trying to find boots that will do up over my calves. Sigh.