Still slightly depressed from all that’s happened to rock my world over the last few weeks, I drag myself down to Union Square having left work thirty minutes early. I am hoping that a little window shopping – and fresh air – will do my foul mood some good. Thirty minutes later, having made a pit stop at TK Maxx, mooched around Sole Trader and JD Sports I find myself at the Jones shop, pondering the wisdom or otherwise of splurging on a gorgeous pair of Timberland boat shoes I have found.

So engrossed am I that I do not notice the floor assistant at my elbow, until she coughs – apologetically – in a bid to get my attention.

Can I help you today Sir, she asks, when seemingly every other ruse in the book has failed to get my attention. I swivel round to face her. She is dressed in all black - shirt, skirt, tights and shoes - except for a sliver of silver  in the shape of a name tag with the name Emma scrawled across it.

I explain that I am in the market for new boat shoes but can’t seem to find anything in size 11. She takes the size 9 ones I have picked up from the display away to have a look, returning in ten minutes to say those are the only sizes left. She offers to order them up on the store’s online portal but having given it some thought I decline the offer - two weeks is a lot of time to spend waiting on an impulse buy, I reason.

Perhaps you could try our shop further down Union Street, she asks, as I make to leave. The store she is trying to describe isn’t one I am familiar with, her long winded description of how I can find it - down past the junction of Union and Crown Streets being of little use. My confusion must be apparent because her older colleague, looking on from across the room comes across to help out.

Look for it on your left as you head towards the junction of Holburn and Union, she says.  If you’re at the Soul Bar you’ve missed it.  The Soul Bar indeed is one that I recognise, and have been at quite a few times. As I make my way out of the shop to head towards Holburn, I overhear the older woman telling the younger one to use the pubs as a reference. Apparently us blokes like our tipple.

I end up at A’s place on Sunday afternoon, after whatever dopamine boost my new shoes bring has worn off; a mini moviethon helping Saturday pass. Non Stop, Ride Along and The Book Thief  being the movies of choice. I run into him on Sunday afternoon after church, whilst picking my way through the clutch of after church greeters and hangers. I stop to have what I think will be a quick chit-chat but end up catching up over a number of different things we haven’t all year and getting invited over for lunch.

At his house we talk about my recent girl problems and my solution - assembling a  strategy committee. A home cooked meal, hang out with his kid and a lengthy conversation around the key changes I need to make to my failing girl strategy later, it is very nearly 6.30pm on Sunday. His - and his wife’s advice - is that a re-branding of sorts is what I need, my  reserved nerd image being ditched for a more trendy, suave, urbane one. We agree to touch base later in the month for a mini splurge - and driving practice

Somehow it is Sunday evening again, Monday beckons - another weekend survived.