'We've got to get you the basics. Mix and match. So even you can't make a mistake. Try and put together a wardrobe where whatever top you choose will go with whichever pair of trousers you put your hands on. Kind of trendy dressing for idiots.'

We head on into the North Laines, and soon the surroundings start to make me feel a little uncomfortable, not because they're particularly threatening or dangerous, but because everyone's so d.a.m.n trendy. People I'm guessing must be my age look years younger than me, and I realize it's because of the way they dress. But as we walk, I gaze through the various shop windows in bewilderment-from what I can tell, most of them seem to be selling fancy dress.

On a road where all the shops are named 'Street' this or 'Urban' that, we eventually find the place Dan's looking for. It's called 'Kred', and as we enter, we're greeted by someone who could be Dan's twin brother. They've got the same trendily unkempt hairstyle, the scruffy bagginess about their clothing that strangely seems to be so smart, and when they shake hands, it's more like a game of scissors-paper-stone than any handshake I've ever seen.

Dan puts his hands on my shoulders and ushers me forward, as if he's presenting me for inspection. 'Milo, I'd like you to meet Edward.'

Milo holds out his hand and, not knowing the correct routine, I just give him the 'thumbs up' sign, as Dan cringes with shame beside me.

'Milo,' continues Dan, 'Edward needs your help.'

'I can see that,' says Milo, looking me up and down. 'What's the occasion?'

'Life,' says Dan. 'He needs to make a good impression.'

'Better to not turn up,' laughs Milo. 'Or to send you in his place.'

I clear my throat loudly. 'Don't mind me.'

Dan and Milo continue to talk about me as if I'm not there and, quite frankly, I'd rather not be. I consider just heading for the door, but then catch sight of my reflection in the full-length mirror-the comparison between my jeans-and-sweatshirt combination and how Dan and Milo look keeps me rooted firmly to the spot.

After another few minutes of discussion, Milo sizes me up expertly, and produces a pair of jeans and a shirt from the rack.

'Try these,' he says, showing me into the changing rooms at the back of the shop. I do as instructed, and walk out of the cubicle to find Dan sitting in an armchair, enjoying a gla.s.s of wine.

'Much better,' says Milo, un-tucking my shirt for me. 'The clothes make the man.'

Dan looks up at me and swallows his mouthful of Chardonnay. 'In the absence of anything else, lets hope so,' he says.

Milo selects a range of trousers, T-shirts, and jumpers, and I try them all on dutifully. Eventually, I get a little tired of being a clothes horse.

'Can't I try and pick something?'

Milo and Dan look at each other conspiratorially. 'Give it a go,' says Dan, trying hard not to smirk.

I try on a pair of three-quarter-length trousers, the type that Dan normally wears, but on me they look like a normal pair that have just shrunk in the wash. Next, I pick up a pair of Levi's, a.s.suming that I can't go wrong with them. It says 'Anti-fit' on the label, and I'm sure I've read about these in GQ.

'What about these?'

Dan scrutinizes the label. '"Anti-fit"? Well, they should suit you, then.'

I s.n.a.t.c.h them off him and disappear into the changing room, emerging red-faced a few seconds later to look for a larger size.

When I eventually manage to squeeze into a pair, I parade up and down in front of the mirror. 'What do you think?'

Dan looks at me critically. 'Honest answer?'

Uh-oh. 'Please.'

'They make you look deformed.'

'b.u.g.g.e.r off!'

'No, honestly. Look.' He pulls out his digital camera, walks behind me, snaps a photo and then shows me the picture on the screen. From behind, I look like my legs are distended, with my knees and crotch approximately two-thirds lower than where they should be. I take them off quickly.

By the time Dan's on his third gla.s.s, we've settled for a couple of pairs of trousers, one pair of combats, one pair of trendy jeans, two jackets, and a selection of interchangeable shirts and tops that should give me the combination of outfits we'd been aiming for. And then lastly, as I rifle through the rail at the back of the store, a Paul Smith suit catches my eye.

From the moment I put it on, I can sense something's different. It's a million miles away from my traditional, shapeless Marks and Spencer work suits. The jacket, with its brightly coloured lining, hugs my new, slimmer physique, making me look even broader at the shoulders. The trousers seem to fit and flatter, and there's not even the slightest bit of straining at the waistband. And even though it costs more than all my other suits combined, I love it. Even Dan seems impressed when I emerge, grinning, from the changing room.

As I carry my bags out of the shop, I've parted with the best part of seven hundred pounds, but I don't care. Because judging by what I've just seen in the mirror, I think I'm finally starting to get it.

We walk back into the centre of town, and I turn to face Dan. 'What's next?'

He thinks for a minute. 'Boots.'

'Cowboy? Chelsea? Desert?'

Dan shakes his head. 'Nope. The Chemist's.'

12.21 p.m.

We're in Boots, standing in the aisle ominously marked 'Men's Grooming', where Dan is holding up a tube of something expensive.

'What kind of skin have you got?'

'What kinds are there?'

'Greasy? Dry? Sensitive? What d'you reckon?'

'Thick, I'd think, from years of putting up with your insults. And anyway, how on earth do I know if I've got sensitive skin?'

Dan gives me the tube to hold and then slaps both my cheeks.

'Ow. What was that for?'

'Did it hurt?'

'Yes, it hurt!'

'Then you've got sensitive skin.'

He s.n.a.t.c.hes the tube back from me and throws it into my basket. I take it out again, and study the label.

'What do I need moisturizer for, anyway?'

Dan looks at me as if I've asked the stupidest question ever. 'To moisturize, dummy.'

'But why do I need to moisturize?'

'Otherwise you'll be too dry after exfoliating.'

'So why don't I just not exfoliate? Then I won't need to moisturize.'

'Ah,' says Dan. 'But if you don't exfoliate then you won't get rid of that build up of...'

'Of moisturizer from the day before?'

'Now you're just being awkward.'

'But this stuff's just for women, surely. Why on earth do men have to moisturize?'

Dan rolls his eyes, not for the first time today. 'Because men have skin too.'

We make our way further along the skin-care section, before Dan stops and studies the shelves.

'Okay,' he says. 'I'm going to let you into a little secret here. How do you think I maintain my healthy colour?'

I look at Dan's slightly orange-tinted skin. 'Eat a lot of carrots?'

He shakes his head, picks up a brown-coloured bottle, and studies it reverentially.

'Two words: fake tan.'

'Fake tan? What on earth do I need fake tan for?'

'Think about it. Jane's been away for three months, basking in the mountain sunshine, whilst you've been stuck under the grey English skies. You'll look comparatively blue next to her unless you do something about it.'

'Well, why don't I just go and have a sunbed or something?'

'You could, a.s.suming you want to add skin cancer to the lung cancer you're already in danger of. Trust me, fake tan is the way to go. And we'd better get a couple of bottles.'

'What on earth for?'

'Because where you're concerned, there's an awful lot more surface area to cover.'

Dan throws another pot of something into the basket and heads off towards the adjacent aisle. I trail along obediently behind him, and by the time we get to the checkout, I'm struggling to carry my basket.

'Are you sure I need all this stuff? Isn't there just like the one product I could buy?'

'What?' says Dan. 'One product. To make you look good to women?'

'Well, yes.'

Dan thinks about this for a moment. 'Why, now you come to mention it, yes there is.'

'Oh. Right,' I say, pleasantly surprised. 'And where do we get that from?'

'The Ferrari garage.'

As he heads off to make sure 'we' haven't forgotten anything, I wait in the queue, and given the nature of my purchases it's not the best time, perhaps, to b.u.mp into Sam. She's looking as good as usual, dressed in a short leather jacket, and a rather tight pair of jeans.

'Is this all for Jane when she gets back?' she asks, peering into my shopping basket.

'Er, no. It's for...I mean, yes. I thought I'd stock up. You know. So she can feel right at home.'

Sam picks up a tube of something from my basket and examines it. 'And she uses "Nivea for Men", does she?'

'Oh yes. It's her favourite.'

Just then, Dan sidles up behind her, staring at Sam's backside before catching my eye and making an appreciative face. He clears his throat, and she turns around.

'Hi there,' he says. 'What's your name?'

Sam looks at Dan suspiciously, not realizing he's with me.

'Why do you want to know?'

Dan flashes his TV grin. 'I thought I might get a tattoo. Wanted to make sure I got the spelling right.'

Sam turns to me and makes a face, then smiles pleasantly back at Dan. 'And that line usually works, does it?'

Dan raises one eyebrow. 'You tell me.'

She regards him quizzically for a moment, before cutting him dead. 'Actually, no.'

'Sam,' I laugh. 'Let me introduce my friend Dan to you. Dan, this is Sam. My trainer.'

Dan does a double take. In fact, it's more of a triple take. 'You're Sam? Edward never said...I mean...h.e.l.lo!' This last word comes out of his mouth as if he's suddenly become Leslie Phillips.

Sam holds out her hand. 'Nice to meet you, Dan.'

It's my turn to cringe as Dan grabs her fingers and plants a kiss firmly on the back of her hand.

'And you're Ed's trainer?'

Sam pulls her hand back and wipes it surrept.i.tiously on her jeans. 'That's right.'

'So, do you think you could help me?' he says. 'You know-build up the old stamina?'

Sam looks at him levelly for a moment. 'Oh, I've got a feeling you don't need my help in that department.'

Dan leers back at her. 'Edward's told you all about me, has he?'

She thinks for a few seconds. 'No, actually. He's only mentioned you in pa.s.sing. Why?'

'Well, because, er...' I rarely see Dan lost for words where a woman is concerned, and I'm enjoying his discomfort.

Sam peers at him closely. 'You do look familiar, though.'