This morning I am sitting on the tube, bopping along to the Postal Service (Best couplet of 2003: You seem so out of context, in this gaudy apartment complex. Genius!). I look up to behold a man, fashioned in such a way that I simply must share with you.

(Brief aside. Living in London, I get to enjoy the sight of many men in sartorial splendour. I don’t know if it’s because they are European or it’s cosmopolitan city or what, but for crying out loud, the men here are freaking stylish.)

Anyway back to the blokey on the tube. He is wearing: flawlessly baggy/worn in Levi�s (how some guys manage that ideal sack-ass look I will never know), a jade green zip-up hoodie over a grey wool v-neck sweater and a white t-shirt underneath that. In lieu of a proper jacket, he�s got a blue pinstriped blazer, with perfectly placed fraying right at the pocket seams and a long woolly striped scarf. His hair is superbly mussed; a combo of just rolled out of bed, but somehow not looking scummy. He is reading�wait for it��The Unbearable Lightness of Being� by Kundera.

And that�s his fatal flaw. He is choosing to be the bohemian arty-sensitive type guy. I mean c�mon! All the aware of it elements are there, capped off by the prize Kundera book. You�ve been rumbled mate! The only way it could be more obvious was if he was reading �The Trial� by Kafka (or perhaps �The Idiot� by Dostoyevsky). Of course I might be wrong. He may have picked those clothes up off the floor of his damp bed-sit, and it could be the 19th time he is reading that book. But then I notice he is wearing very expensive, seriously tripped-out Nike sneakers. So I frigging doubt it.