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I usually walk to work, but my new suede brogues (£150 from Men’s Traditional Shoes in Camberwell) aren’t meant for the trudging peasantry. The nearest appropriate transportation was the Underground. It was jam-packed with hundreds of stressed-out, grumpy city workers and the waft of coffee mixed with expensive colognes and rancid morning farts made me want to vomit.

Looking around at my fellow travellers I suddenly realised my beard was déclassé. When I arrived at my destination, Liverpool Street Station, the heartland of London’s bankers, I booked myself in for a wet shave.

At lunchtime I went to All Bar One, an appropriately soulless chain of gastropubs that serves sausage and mash for £10 a go and pints for £3.50. I overheard one of the suited fellows next to me refer to the waitress as a “right spastic cunt”, which was a lovely way to start my meal. Eventually I sauntered back to the office but, being disinclined to work, I went home early and puffed a cigar in the garden. So far, being a city boy was simply wonderful.

CITY-BOY CRITERIA

1  Drink champagne and brandy and smoke cigars every night

2 Dress like Charlie Sheen in Wall Street

3 Travel by tube or black cab—no walking allowed

4 Eat only sushi, dim sum, or food from gastropubs

5 Frequent central London strip clubs

6 Read the entire Financial Times every day—even the bits that look like binary code

7 Pretend to be stinking rich at all times