I have to sneak out of the office at lunchtime to avoid being seen by New Boy. Not that I care about turning him down, as he is so far from being my type that he might as well be a woman, but because I don’t like lying. Or, to be more accurate, I don’t like being caught out. I must look very furtive as I sidle along back streets towards Covent Garden. Store security guards watch me with more interest than usual. I obviously look guilty.

Anyway, this is a great excuse to buy new clothes, and within half an hour I’ve put together an outfit that won’t completely shame me in front of Stuart and his friends. Obviously it’s based around the shoes, which I can’t afford to buy new, but fortunately brown brogues are timeless and this pair has the advantage of looking quite well worn. The new pairs that I’m seeing in the shops come ready scuffed and creased, which never looks convincing, like those ready-ripped jeans that Jonathan bought last year and has never worn. I’ve got a nice tailored shirt from Zara, and a pair of pleat-fronted trousers from H&M;, and I’m congratulating myself on the fact that the whole outfit has cost less than £100 when I realise that I’ve basically bought the exact same clothes that I borrowed from Michael, the only real difference being the turn-ups on the trousers. I console myself with the fact that, at least, I won’t have Stuart glaring at the bottom of my legs all night, and then I see a really attractive, well-dressed guy walking towards me WEARING TROUSERS WITH TURN-UPS, and my heart sinks, I’ve just spent nearly a hundred quid to look unfashionable.

To complete my misery I bump straight into New Boy on my way into the office, and he looks at my H&M; and Zara bags and says, ‘Good meeting?’ and walks off with a scowl on his face.

Oh well, at least he won’t be troubling me with unwanted attentions any more, that’s something. His name is Simon, I noticed when I was staring at my shoes trying to think of something to say and saw it on the ID card he wears clipped to his belt.

Jonathan emailed me in the afternoon to say that I was invited to a private view at a gallery in Hoxton at six p.m., and when I phoned him to ask since when he was interested in contemporary art, he said it was Hadley’s gallery, and that he’s promoting new artists, and that Jonathan is hoping to get a one-man show in there later in the year, and that I should come with him and check out the space.

I email Stuart to tell him that I too have had a change of plan, not to meet me at the gym but to pick me up at Hadley s gallery. He doesn’t reply so obviously he has his phone switched off.

The outfit I’ve bought is suitable for all occasions and so I won’t feel out of place at a gallery show, or at dinner with Stuart, or at whatever club we’re going to tonight, where I will take the shirt off anyway and then nobody will be looking at my trousers, turn-ups or no turn-ups.