A Velvet suit, Google and the feminist republic of Brightonia

When you break up with someone, move house, end a job or change something important like your opinion on tight trousers you should get some new clothes. This is to mark this historic occasion and help kick start a new period.

As it was the time of new beginnings I went on my usual pilgrimage to the Real McCoy. For those who don't know about this wondrous place it is a shop that sells clothes from the 1870s to the 1970s. The male selection is rather limited but it does occasionally throw up a real treasure.

I like to think that the show rewards me for getting through something tricky by giving me a lovely item of clothing. I think it's luck because finding something I like and that fits me in what is basically a specialised second hand shop is tricky. When I visited my dad on my own I was gifted with a fitted tweed number that I adore, telling A I was going to have no-more of her nonsense was a surprised to find a lovely smoking jacket.

On this visit I found a brown velvet suit that fitted me like a glove. I wasn't sure about it until I tried it on and the fit, and amusing lack of trouser pockets completely bowled me over. It is the perfect thing to wear on New Year's Eve in Brighton with a load of feminists.

Of course a brown suit is an easy item to get wrong, too flashy a shirt and you look like a failed magician, too conservative and you will be more akin to a geography teacher. Not that either are bad people, but that's just not my look. I've settled on a faintly stripy pink number and combined it with some very sharp shoes which I think gets the balance right.

I will soon be entering the world of dating so I Googled myself today as people do that when they meet you and want to find out more. I'm not even close to the top search of my own name. I can't believe that. I've got a moderately unusual name and people from the 1800s on genealogy websites appear above me. I can't decide if this is a good thing or not, I toyed with the idea of setting up some fake websites about how I saved some nuns from a fire or taught dolphins to read so that people searching for me would hear good (fictional) things. Maybe not for now.

I must dash now, I've got to pack up my waistcoats and get things ready for my trip to Brighton to stay with some outrageous feminist friends for NYE. I can't wait, seeing them is always a joy and their misadventures are the stuff of legend. Just the ticket when a chap is starting something new.