Early Morning in Bloomsbury

What is this confessional fever that grips me? Why must I chronicle every detail of my life? Is it because I fear it's a dream and believe that by fixing it on hundreds of screens I will somehow make it more lasting? When I woke this morning in Bloomsbury, the buildings through the blinds were orange in the sun, the sky was a delicious blue. My friend was pulling on his bespoke tailored suit, telling me not to get up, saying he'd set the alarm for later. But how could I sleep with this vision before me? This jacket so exquisitely tapered. These perfect white cuffs showing just below the sleeves. I wanted to reach up and pull him on top of me, to feel the cashmere bristling beneath my hands. Unfortunately he'd committed to breakfast with a banker. He had to go out into the cold.

I slept for what felt like days, but when I woke it was 8.00. The bed was a ball of warmth that had somehow turned me to lead. How was I going to get out of here when my bones were made of lead? I had no choice but to throw the duvet off me, dash it to the floor and crawl slowly toward the door. In the bathroom I stood beneath a warm downpour and looked out at Bloomsbury through the whirling steam. Such a cold grey place, everything so immaculate, the gardens so green. In all the big windows I saw people preparing to leave.

I dressed quickly in the cold; arrived at 'A Suit That Fits' with about 5 minutes to spare.

Who needs the Eiffel Tower?

Not only do I work for the most vibrant garment house in London, I must live in the most buzzing city in the world. For me, it's symbolised by the BT Tower. Not that the Tower itself is that interesting (though I can't help finding it strangely beautiful); it's more, I think, what it represents. Above all it represents London. In the year 2000 I studied at UCL and lived directly under it. Today, when I sit up in bed I can see it shining, purple, in the sky. I wake up in the morning and leave my bed. The sun is a mere white disc in the sky. There's something about the mist, the way it wraps around the Tower, that makes me tingle through and through.

The first thing that happens when I get into work is that Jen gets out her croissants, still warm from the baker's in Notting Hill. After we've eaten them with tea, I begin to write about suits. At this time in the morning, when my eyes are still opening and my head feels numb, there's nothing more lovely to write about. It helps that the quality constantly amazes me, that the prices are great and the process ingenious. When I'm done I take the customers' appointments and make sure they have everything they desire. Whatever their shape, there's a suit that fits - that's the motto that drives us.

At the end of the day I walk back through the city. The people and the traffic are sometimes oppressive. The cold and the dark are discouraging. But something quickens and tingles in my blood. My heels click, my heart skips a beat, the Tower stands phallic and empurpled against the sky. I didn't expect it to happen, I don't think I had any choice, but now I'm sure I've fallen... I've fallen hopelessly in love with London.

Experience the magic of London yourself. Visit 'A Suit That Fits'.

The 5 As of a Good Man, according to Dorothy

I met a woman last night. I can't tell you where without revealing things about myself I'm not willing to disclose, but I can tell you that her name was Dorothy and she dressed in only vintage clothes. She was enormous fun to be with and looked something like the woman in the picture above – that is, big-busted, sexy and free. Bizarrely we ended up in a chip shop off Tottenham Court Road, drinking tea and sharing a plate of chips. It was there she told me the 5 attributes that women look for in their ideal partner. She called them the '5 As'.

(As valued prospective shoppers of 'A Suit That Fits', I hope to help you in every way possible. By taking you through lovely Dorothy's formula, my goal is to make you more elligible to women. If achieving this means I have to life-coach a few of you, then so be it.)

The first characteristic Dorothy mentioned was appropriateness. What she meant by this I wasn't sure, and when I looked at her quizzically she said, "Ask yourself - is it appropriate to be with him?" I'm not officially dating anyone at the moment so I had to think back through my history of relationships and pluck one at randrom from the swirling void. At last I said, "Ok, so if I dated a kleptomaniac and we kept being chased by store security, it might not have been appropriate, right?" Dorothy smiled and nodded her head. "That’s right. But it needn’t be as dramatic as that, either. You may just not be ready. That would be inappropriate too. Or you may just have ended a long divorce... It wouldn't be appropriate to get involved with someone new."

Ok, so the next was availability. "Well that's easy," I said, "If you suspect he's married, dump him..." Dorothy shook her head. "It's not necessarily his marital status we're talking about. He may be completely single. He may be the most eligible bachelor in town. But his emotional availability is what's important. If he's unwilling to open up and engage with you, it may not be worth wasting your time." I took a sip of my tea. "I see! So if a guy disappears from your life without even telling you, it’s probably a case of him not being available in the first place?" Dorothy put her hand on my arm and looked at me sympathetically. "That's right, honey, that's right."

Third was attitude. By this she meant general zest for life. Joie de vivre or je ne sais quois. It's something Dorothy possesses in abundance so it's something she especially looks for in a man. Using my example of the poor fragile guy with the tendency to kleptomania, she asked me, what was his attitude to life? This time, I didn't have to think. "Oh he was great. Absolutely buzzing. He showered me with gifts... A definite yes on attitude." Dorothy lit a cigarette and sucked at the end with her sticky lips. She raised a severe black brow. "Sounds kinda unstable to me." I poured another cup. "But I like that in a man," she added breezily, "You've got to take the rough with the smooth, and if you want fun - I mean, real hysterical fun - you've got to accept some instability." I sighed. At last I'd nailed one of these slippery suckers.

Now for affluence. This one made me a tiny bit fearful. I'm not the richest of men. I live in an ex-council flat in a nondescript part of London on a writer's wage. Luckily she wasn't being quite so transparent. "Affluence," said Dorothy, "is more than just 'Is he rich?' It means 'Are your lifestyles suited?' There's no point dating someone so poor they can barely afford to eat. (i.e. me, I thought) What would you ever do with him? Likewise there's no point dating a billionaire you'd never keep up with and who'd make you feel small. There's nothing worse for the health of a relationship than inequality. It's why so many marriages fail. In the old-style hetero set-up women were horribly infantilised. The man had control of all the purse strings. The man paid all the bills..." I interrupted. "But things have changed since then!" Dorothy sighed. "Not as much as you think. Open your eyes. It's all around you. The same relationships of power remain. More importantly for you, you have to think, 'Can I share this guy's lifestyle? Can he share mine?'"

I opened my mouth to speak, but Dorothy had already moved on. "The final category is the most important." She paused and opened her eyes wide. "If you're going to be more than just friends with a guy, he has to be attractive." I smiled wryly, "Well of course." She curled her lips. "I can see where you're headed. I don't mean attractive in a purely aesthetic sense, although that is important. I mean in an all-round spiritual sense. Do you feel a connection that lies somewhere beyond words? Can you feel something swelling inside you when you're around him for any length of time? Does he make you want to kiss him lingeringly whilst lying snugly beside him? Does he hold you in a way that makes you tingle and swoon? Only the individual can answer this question. Appearance is often little to do with it." My spine was tingling. The way she described it hit the nail on the head. If only I had Dorothy with me always, I thought. Troubles with men would melt away. I'd never have to worry again.

Attractiveness. The 5 As. Everything seemed so abundantly clear. The more I thought about it, the more I felt Dorothy's wisdom was transferable. As I watched her totter away on her 6 inch heels, I wondered if we could use her insights to help our customers look and feel great. If there's one thing we want our customers to believe it's that their suits make them look attractive - because they do. Our made-to-measure styles enhance the contours of the body to make you look the best you can - which, as a rule, is always enough. We take what Dorothy says seriously. For men to pass the most important test - that of attractiveness - they must dress becomingly and look presentable. They mustn't cause embarrassment by the clothes they wear.

If you're struggling with any of the 5 As, or you merely want to improve your style, contact 'A Suit That Fits' and tell us what's on your mind.

Dorothy has kindly promised to respond...

London will be spotted purple...

Outside my office window, the rain beats London. The buildings shimmer in the wet. I sit behind my desk, contemplating the perfect satin lining for my new pinstripe suit. The stripe is a fine, glistening grey. The fabric is Midnight Blue. I'm tempted to opt for a matching lining, but part of me leans towards the bright. There are four vibrant colours to choose from. Luminous Gold, Lime Green, Blood Red and Royal Purple. I'm looking for something dark and striking. I'm divided between the purple and the red.

Thunder rolls over London. It breaks like the crack of a whip. I have a sample of purple satin, which I place next to the pinstriped cloth. Somehow the satin brings out the pinstripe, almost purpling the grey. The fabric smoulders as I fold it. The satin fibres shimmer in the light.

It's lunchtime now and my stomach begins to rumble. The rain has turned into a thick grey smudge. I think of a quote by D.H. Lawrence, comparing London to a dull grey stone under which we creep like insects. Before picking up my umbrella and heading off into the rain, I order the perfect fabric ensemble: a Midnight Blue suit with a purple satin lining. At least this way, I think, I'll carry colour around London. The inside of my jacket will flash in the light. No matter what the weather. No matter how deadeningly grey the day.

Try mixing and matching yourself at www.aSuitThatFits.com