"Shoes and socks?" I inquired of the lady at the checkout in duty-free. She told me there was a clothing section at the back of the shop and my heart lifted.

I padded to the far end of the store. The clothing section comprised a rack of gaudy Bermuda shorts and T-shirts, and about five hundred cartoon character ties. There were no proper shoes, but a small selection of leather Jesus sandals resided on a bottom shelf. Then I spotted some white ankle socks. Sandals and white socks with a charcoal grey suit? Better than nothing I supposed. With luck, the Swiss might assume they were the latest London fashion. I picked them up and checked the price labels. £15.99 for the sandals and £3.99 for the socks. I could just afford them. I skipped nimbly to the checkout with my purchases and presented my two crisp ten-pound notes.

"Boarding card please," the checkout lady said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Boarding card. You can't buy anything duty-free without a boarding card," she explained carefully.

"But ... but," I hedged, trying to think. "My girlfriend is just outside. She has our boarding cards."

"Fine, I'll keep these here for you if you go and fetch one."

"Aagh!" I said decisively. "I think I'll have another look around first."

I took my precious sandals and retreated into the store to think. The solution hit me in a flash. Ask one of the other shoppers to buy them for me. I spotted a middle-aged couple browsing bottles of gin and sidled up to them. They were arguing about which brand to buy. I waited for a suitable pause in their conversation to make my request. My moment arrived, I opened my mouth to speak and, at that instant, an announcement was tannoyed.

"Would all passengers for Flight UK569 to Tenerife please proceed to Gate 44 immediately. The flight is boarding now."

"Come on Betty, that's our flight! Leave the blasted gin or we'll miss it."

The couple rushed past me and out of the store closely followed by all the other shoppers. I was left completely alone holding my sandals in one hand and my socks in the other.

I swore under my breath and looked at my watch. It was 7.30 am. That gave me an idea. I rushed back to the posh shoe shop and offered my watch in return for the cheapest shoes.

"Is it a Rolex?" the snooty assistant inquired.

"No, it's a Timex," I admitted and slunk out under his contemptuous gaze.

I made my way back to Arrivals and down into the baggage reclaim, resigned to the fact that I'd run out of both time and ideas.

"Did my Auntie May come this way?" I asked the customs man at the red counter as I passed. He stared at me with a puzzled look on his face and shrugged. I raised my hands in a gesture of exasperation and continued through.

The Excelsior Hotel was only a short walk up the road which was just as well because the pavement was cold, wet and muddy. By the time I reached it my feet were in the same condition.

"Just a moment young man," the commissionaire barred my way into the foyer.

"You can't come in here like that," he pointed at my muddy feet.

"But I've got an interview in Suite 305 in ten minutes," I pleaded.

"Why aren't you wearing shoes?"

I put my hands together in a praying motion and gave a short bow.

"I'm a Buddhist. We're not allowed to wear shoes in case we crush an ant."

"Oh ... well ... make sure you give them a good wipe on the doormat."

He allowed me to enter and watched as I scrubbed my feet painfully on the bristly mat. I took the lift to the third floor, saw a restroom and stopped to give my feet a quick wipe before looking for the suite where the interviews were being held.

The door was standing open when I found Suite 305. A cardboard sign hanging over a picture in a small anteroom read 'Candidates Please Wait Here'. I sat down and listened to the murmur of voices from beyond the other door. It was five minutes to eight.