This, according to that most knowledgeable of all fountains, The Random Bloke In The Pub, means I am not, contrary to what the science books tell me, a man.

And this must be true because The Random Bloke In The Pub knows all.

He can tell you where the England manager is going wrong (often it's because he's a foreigner) or how to solve the current economic crisis. He can also tell you – and never in anything but the most certain of terms – why the former is more important than the latter (hint: it's because he says so).

The Random Bloke In The Pub is, as he admits himself, witty and charming and successful.

So when he says you're not a man, it's time to stop moisturising and start growing a beard, time to put down the spatula and knock up some shelves.

Or, in my case, just do the shelves – growing a beard being impossible unless we're talking a bizarre looking, none-too-impressive goatee. Which, my random friend assured me, is decidedly un-manly.

So, shelves. I needed some anyway, having lived in homes devoid of them since forever.

A rack of shelves. Easier said than done, perhaps, for someone who once begged his dad to make a 40-minute trip to change a light bulb. I was 22 at the time. Although, if memory serves, I was 21 when the bulb popped. Still, it saved on the lecky bill for a few months.

But shelves. Hundreds of CDs and books had littered my bedroom floor too long. Old copies of magazines and newspapers had made horrible prints on my couch too many times.

Shelves would be mine. The advantages positively screamed at me. Or at least they spoke persuasively – allowing yourself to be screamed at is, after all, goatee-like unmanliness.

I could knock up CD racks so I could at last find the albums (The Jam, manly? Belle and Sebastian, not?) I wanted when I wanted them.

I could build some in the bathroom to store my barely-used razors to stop than cluttering my sink sides – although obviously now the only place for the moisturiser was the bin.

And I could even bang up some spice shelves where chilli would have pride of place while coriander would be moved to the back, only allowed to be opened by female visitors.

Have shelves, am man.

And why stop there? I would start drinking bitter, learn to read a map and even build the perfect barbecue to celebrate with friends my newfound sense of purpose.

I thanked The Random Bloke In The Pub for his enlightenment.

I offered him a drink and he said he'd have a half... a half?

I never did put up any shelves.

colin.drury@halifaxcourier.co.uk