CHRIS HEWETT
GUEST COLUMNIST

When Ugo Monye squeezes himself into a sequined toreador’s jacket, spangly tights and a feather boa for the paso doble round in Strictly Come Dancing, he is unlikely to feel bashful. Anyone who spends 13 long years at the mercy of the Twickenham Stoop wardrobe department is beyond sartorial humiliation.
French grey, chocolate brown, light blue, magenta and all the rest of it: those skin-tight, pastel-shaded Harlequins numbers have been at the daring – not to say hilarious – edge of sporting fashion since time immemorial. If Ann Widdec...