I exit the office bursting with self-esteem and skip out onto Swanston Street with an impromptu soft-shoe shuffle of which Gregory Hines would have been proud. It's a beautiful day, the finest in nearly a decade, for today I am bound for a café at which I intend to purchase a cup of coffee.

Full strength coffee.

It's been more than eight years since I gave up all caffeine after I discovered it was making me terribly ill. Over the past five, I've slowly been working it back into my life, beginning with two years of almost caffeine-free green tea, then three of black tea - at first just an experimental half-cup of Girlie Grey in the safety of my kitchen, then as my kidneys grew reckless entire pots of Irish Breakfast at street cafés like a common harlot. It was fantastic, and my head reeled like a Scottish dance party, but I maintained my discipline. I had a goal, and today I am ready to grasp it. The tea isn't doing it for me anymore. My body is whole again. I need a coffee.

I jeté into the café, elegantly, but not showily; the kind of thing Gene Kelly might appreciate.

"Goodness," says the barista, "but aren't you limber!"

"I am!" I exclaim. I adopt a cod-Russian accent. "De danser, he alvays stretch before he order de coffee, da?"

"Da indeed!" says the barista.

"Da!" I exclaim again, executing a plié which only retrospectively seems excessive. Right now, I'm in the moment. I'm filled with joy. The barista and I share a laugh.

"What can I get you?" he asks.

"I would like," I say, tasting the long-anticipated words on my lips, "a lattè. To go."

"Coming right up, Baryshnikov," he smiles, and gives me a wink. I return it, even though I normally frown at people who wink at me on the grounds that it's lascivious and forward, and merrily peruse the paraphernalia, wondering if a person ordering coffee here has ever been so delightfully whimsical.

He sets the machine and looks at me once more. "I like your trousers," he says.

It's as though God is tickling me. These are my favourite trousers and no one ever notices them. Until right now I have never had this thought.

"Aren't they wonderful?" I say.

"They're beautiful," he says. "So well cut. Come around the counter so I can see them."

I come around the counter and he sees them.

"Goodness, they fit so well!" he says. "That's it, I must have them. Whip them off."

"Oh, get away with you," I say mock-coquettishly, "I don't give it up that easily." This banter, I think, is going really well. We're having a great laugh, me and my new friend the barista. "Perhaps some other time."

"I get off at five!" he cries. "It's a date!" We laugh again.

"Well, here's your coffee," he says. He hands me my change. "My name's Justin, by the way."

He shakes my hand in a way that changes things.

"Um, Mat," I say.

"See you soon Mat," says Justin.

I walk back to the office.

"Look at this!" says my colleague Patsy. "The first proper coffee!"

"Yes," I say.

"What's with you? I thought you'd be delighted."

"Well, look, I - listen, do you know Justin from the café?"

"Sure, he's a great guy, always joking, lots of fun."

"Yes! He's a joker, yes? Likes a joke?"

"Yeah."

"Thank God. For a minute there I thought I'd just accidentally arranged a date with him."

Patsy blinks at me. "His boyfriend just dumped him."

I sip my coffee slowly. It's really hot.

...to be continued in I still like your trousers