COME on, admit it. When did you last take a sneaky, admiring peek at your reflection as you sidled past a shop window?

Oh vanity of vanities. We are all guilty of this heinous sin at some time or other, like the cock pheasant which used to puff himself up pompously when he caught sight of himself in our patio window.

And little wonder when we are assailed on all sides in the frantic fervour to look good.

Just two of the many emails I received at work this week urged me to take control of my own looks. "100 per cent herbal weight loss patch. Lose five to 27 pounds in 30 days. Just put on a patch for 24 hours of constant, fat-fighting action."

And it's discreet, apparently - you can stick the patch anywhere on your body "even under your clothes". There's novel.

I've tried the nicotine patches which give you all the nicotine you need without smoking, and they work pretty well. So well, in fact, I'm looking forward to the introduction of gin and tonic patches.

The second email was a seductive invitation to plump up my lips, to "Kiss your thin, ordinary lips goodbye with a NEW super-hydrating lip treatment..." Kiss my back door!

Apparently you can painlessly stimulate your lips to produce collagen and hyaluronic moisture, which results in larger, plumper and more desirable lips. Let's all pucker up together, now.

I won't even mention the email that extols the suction technique which guarantees a larger manhood.

Sadly, I won't be tempted to try any of these treatments. I do not need them because I'm heavily engaged in aversion therapy. I just don't look any more.

If I could get through the daily ritual of shaving without having to see my face, I would. In winter I just grow a beard. Who wants an early morning reminder of the ravages of time and last night's excesses?

The last time I caught my reflection in a shop window I did not recognise the bloke peering back. Well, it was a window dresser I'd never seen before.

But I do understand people's obsession with weight, whether it is a matter of vanity or health, like the woman in Saturday's Evening Press who lost 15 stones. She had, in effect, been walking round with me and my grandson on her back for years.

I've always been slim, more like a racing snake. Occasionally I obsess about being too skinny so that in the bath I am actually convinced I am staring down at a skeleton. Well you knew I wasn't normal.

I have to be reassured by my wife that I am not wasting away, a bit like "does my bum look big in this?" only in reverse.

Talking about reverse, I would go on the Snikta Teid - that's Atkins Diet backwards - where you stuff yourself with carbohydrates and pile on the weight, but I just don't have the appetite. Shame, because I could join all the women, and the odd desperate chap, at Flabwatchers and become champion of the week for putting on the most pounds.

I could become a totally new man and go for this male plastic surgery that is all the rage. A facelift, perhaps, to have all those sagging bits raised and wrinkles removed. But then how would I chart the course of my life's adventures if I have the Himalayan contours removed from the map, or reshape the globe with my nose on my forehead like lifting Australia into Europe?

I could get a wig; have my nails done and partake in the trend for male make-up and moisturiser.

No, that would not sit nicely with my DIY power tools or the hard men in my local pub. And my wife would kill me if I turned out with neater eyeliner and shinier lip gloss than her.

So I'll just have to try to look smarter. After all, my dad always told me that clothes maketh the man.

Perhaps a new tie might cheer me up. Something gaudy and gay to offset the drab suits. But here's a sobering thought (and they are rare from me). I bent down to pick up my three-year-old grandson and he grabbed my tie and asked: "What's that grampa?" It's a tie, you stupid child. "What's it for?" he asked. He wasn't to know, his dad is of the generation that rarely wears one.

But I couldn't answer him. He'd got me stumped. What is a tie for, anyway?

Updated: 10:05 Tuesday, September 09, 2003