When the plumber came to my front door, he couldn’t take his eyes off my trousers

Dressing to impress for a video call, Will Gore finds himself confronted with an unexpected meeting in real life

I felt absurd but comfortable in my outfit of two halves. Until the doorbell rang – then I just felt absurd (Getty)

I don’t suppose anyone actually enjoys Zoom meetings. Sure, they made it possible to keep calm and carry on during the pandemic’s most difficult days; and a video call is more time-efficient than an in-person meeting with someone who lives 200 miles away.

But plainly there isn’t the strength of connection on a screen that there is when you’re in the same room – and that’s even assuming the internet connection doesn’t cut out. Just imagine how Handforth Parish Council might have been able to resolve their differences had they not been forced to gather virtually.

I for one, am therefore delighted to no longer have every day dominated by Zoom, Teams, Google Meet and the rest. And where I do need to connect with someone who I can’t see in person, I’ve rediscovered the joy of an old-fashioned phone call, for which there is no need to worry about my lighting set-up or dress code.

Actually, when it comes to that last point, I count myself fortunate in not generally having to don a suit for work, whether in the office or on Zoom. Equally, I am not one of those people who enjoyed lockdown because it provided an opportunity to stay in my pyjamas all day. And on the rare occasions I have had to wear something smart for a video call, I’ve gone the full hog – rather than tie and jacket on display and pants only off-screen.

But there is a first time for everything. On Thursday, I had put on a suit to attend – in person – the funeral of an old friend; a hugely uplifting affair at the wonderful St Bride’s Church on Fleet Street. The suit was one I hadn’t worn for at least a year, and I’m afraid to say the waist appeared to have somehow shrunk. By the time I got home, I was experiencing a degree of discomfort.

My next engagement was a video gathering, with people who I suspected would be smartly dressed. But my trousers were liable to do me a mischief if I kept them on for much longer, so for the first time since the world of online meetings became a thing, I matched my smart shirt and jacket with a scruffy pair of tracksuit bottoms and slippers. I felt absurd but comfortable. All I had to do was to remember not to stand up while my camera was on.

And then there was a ring at the front door.

I hoped it was my wife and son, who had gone out swimming earlier on. I feared it might be the plumber, who my wife had called out to deal with a leaky radiator.

Sure enough, it was the plumber, a youngish guy who we’ve had to call on for various issues over the years; charming and cool. As I opened the door in my suit/tracksuit combo, like a cross between a (slightly) slimmer David Brent and a (much) shabbier Steve Cram, I saw the plumber raise a discrete eyebrow, and I immediately tried to explain myself, muttering senselessly about Zoom meetings and funerals. With hindsight, silence would have been the better part of valour.

The leak, it turned out, could be swiftly sorted with a few turns of a spanner, which somehow made the whole episode worse, as I – ridiculous and evidently impractical – made polite conversation for the full four minutes he was in the house, all the while wishing that plumbers could fix things remotely.

Rarely have I been so pleased to say goodbye to someone in person and to run upstairs to join a video conference. I smiled at the camera, greeted the other people on the call, and admired my smart attire. Across the screen were other nice shirts and worky tops on display, though I wondered if I was alone in being less elegant from the waist down. There is, I reflected, a place for everything – even Zoom.