I have to get a suit measurement for John’s wedding in Melbourne in a few weeks time…

First I called in at the Savoy Tailors Guild next to the Savoy Hotel in my jeans and crumpled work shirt, copy of the Guardian and my iPod headphones dangling from my pocket.  This did not create a favourable impression with the gentleman "walking the floor".  He looked at me like I was an insect.  And not a colourful, interesting insect – more like a small, grey wood louse.  Something you might burn with a magnifying glass when you were ten years old (as in that Handsome Family song).  He directed me to Moss Bros in King Street – to the hire department right at the back.  Here I discovered a whole new world of people getting ready for Ascot.  A specially created Ascot tent in the middle of the shop floor was there for people to try things on which reminded me of Tracey Emin’s "Everyone I have Ever Slept With" (the one that was lost in the fire) but taller, wider.  I explained my needs and the man on the front of house told me to take a ticket and sit down and wait for a qualified tailor and that the service would be ten pounds.  I waited on the leather sofa along with all the Ascot attendees.  I didn’t like the look of the tailors and they didn’t like me.  They kept looking in my direction while they were working on other customers with a fixed, fascinated expression which was downright unnerving until I realised that in fact they were looking over my shoulder at the plasma screen which was showing a home makeover programme on Channel 5.

Eventually, unexpectedly, a soft, female French voice called out for ticket number 22.  She didn’t look like any of the other tailors.  I was both pleased and slightly alarmed, aware suddenly of out-of-placeness and scruffiness.  She was very beautiful and took gentle but firm control of the whole process.  I think her expression was not the insect one – it was more like pity or fondness.  Maybe like looking at a kitten or a guinea pig with a limp.  After taking the initial measurements she vanished and I thought that was that and she was leaving me to go and attend to a Sir Alan Sugar round the corner. She returned with a suit and we did a proper fitting and there was much crossing out on the sheet.  She asked me to try on a waistcoat which was lime green with flowers on it.  I think she was definitely enjoying the moment.  FInally she asked me if I knew my shirt size.  I didn’t really want to get this wrong -16 popped into my head.  But I said no and she reached up – I would say quite tenderly – and measured my neck for a shirt.  "You are a 16" she announced.  And that really was that. But, as I handed my ten pounds over I felt the day was suddenly different.  I had shared a moment.  She looked away and called out "Number 27".