The Friday after we'd found out about the festival, Daphne and I headed out to the Tacoma Mall in my Mercedes. Daphne seemed as excited about the upcoming trip as I was, and we were soon joking around like a couple of back row hooligans. I half expected her to start folding paper aeroplanes from my copy of 'Which Phobia?'.

The trip was an entirely new kind of shopping experience for me, and Daphne had to direct me through a maze of islands and slip roads into the parking lot. Well, I say parking lot; it was more of a parking village. A parking city. We would probably cover several zip codes on the walk from the car to the entrance hall.

Daphne looked at me strangely after I'd locked the car and was trying to line up landmarks so we could find it again in the sea of vehicles. When I told her what I was doing, squinting at a distant fly-over, she nudged me and pointed up at a little sign which read B3. It was worth feeling silly when she laughed at me and then swatted my arm to show she wasn't being mean.

I was still disappointed that my original hope for a weekend alone in the Winnebago with Daphne had been dashed. Still, when it came to my plans for having Venus all to myself, I was kind of used to disappointment. I could still make the best of things. Unless Maggie intended to glue herself to Daphne's side, I was bound to have some opportunities for one-on-one moments. Admittedly, the prospect of sitting in a field surrounded by blaring speaker systems was quite a price to pay, but I figured it would be worth it.

We wandered into the mall, chatting about the things we'd need. "We'll sort out boots first," Daphne suggested. "They're the most important thing at a festival. You need them to be sturdy, in case you're in a crush, waterproof for obvious reasons, and yet they need to be nice and comfortable otherwise you'll have a miserable weekend. There's nothing worse than having sore feet and nowhere to sit down and take the weight off them."

"You really seem to know what you're talking about," I enthused. "Look, what about Timberland?" I guided her over to the shop window with a thoughtful hand at her elbow. "Those tan suede ones are nice."

"And they'll be ruined, if it rains and the ground gets churned up," she observed. "You want something that's going to be easy to clean mud off; well, unless you're only buying for a single weekend!" Daphne laughed. "Imagine that! Two hundred dollar disposable boots!"

"Okay, if you see something you think is suitable, shout out," I offered, and couldn't help a guilty flush. The boots we were about to invest in would probably not see much of an airing after the festival weekend, if I were truly honest. 'Disposable' was probably close to the mark.

Two pairs of boots, ("One for Saturday and one for Sunday?" Daphne teased me, but I'm wise to the footwear mishaps that can ruin an otherwise perfectly planned trip), some thick wool socks, various t-shirts and two soft flannel overshirts later, we were ready to buy jeans. I was growing more enthusiastic about the festival weekend as we accumulated our purchases. We entered a store and wandered through it until Daphne's eye was caught and she began browsing the racks behind me.

"I need some new jeans, too," she offered, over her shoulder. "Stonewashed, I think."

I was stumped. "Stonewashed?"

Okay, I felt a little bit ignorant when she shot me an incredulous look. I guess 'stonewashed' wasn't really such a specialist term. Daphne looked back at the rack and I saw her hiding what I hoped was an affectionate smile. "The blue dye fades to be very pale. They aren't brilliant with the dirt, but I like them anyway."

"Like this?"

She turned around and I offered up a pair of faded blue denims for her approval. They were straightcut, and Daphne reached out to finger the material. When she glanced at the label she raised an eyebrow at the way I'd managed to pick out exactly the right size for her. I hoped she figured such accuracy was a happy accident and not actually due to the way I accumulate and cherish Daphne-facts like some people collect snow shakers.

"They're perfect," she smiled. "You've done this before!" I grinned at her, happy to have helped. "Listen, I want to slip them on to make sure they're a good fit, you have a look around and see if anything takes your fancy."

She has to say things like that, doesn't she?

"Okay," I said, and immediately lost the power to move, or even direct my gaze elsewhere.

Daphne rolled her eyes, spun me round and patted me on the rear. "Off!" she instructed. "We haven't got all day!"

I limped off to look for my new jeans.

Fifteen minutes later I swished the fitting room curtain aside and cautiously crept back to the store front, ready to model my choice. Well, that is to say, Daphne's choice. She waited for me beside the fitting room entrance, browsing a rack of sweat tops.

"Daphne?"

She turned round and stared. Her eyes dropped down past my shirt to the blue denims she'd chosen. I must admit, it was a heart-stopping moment, having Daphne's eyes lingering at my groin, but of course, she was simply checking out the jeans. I may be a man hopelessly in love, but six years have taught me the dangers of self-delusion.

Daphne approached then, and began fussing around me. "Are they comfy?" she asked, turning me around and lifting my shirt so she could check the fit around the hips. Her fingers brushed the bare skin at my sides, just where I'm particularly ticklish, and I shuddered slightly.

"Umm ... actually yes, they are." I looked up at the ceiling and conjured an image of the effluent pit I'd stumbled ... let's say 'upon' ... at boy scout camp, in the hope of calming my suddenly raging hormones.

"You'll probably need a belt," Daphne observed, as I tucked my thumbs into the waistband and hauled them up fractionally. When I glanced down to nod, I thought I saw her looking at the bare bit of midriff the action revealed, but I discarded the thought, along with the way the in-store lighting seemed to be making the tips of her ears turn red. She straightened up and smiled at something just over my shoulder. "Well, get them off then ..." there was a bit of a pause and Daphne blushed at the unintentional innuendo, "... and we'll get them paid for."

"Right." I paused, and considered asking her if she wanted to help with their removal for a fraction of a second, before thankfully thinking better of it and retreating through the arch into the fitting rooms once again. When I glanced back before disappearing into my cubicle, I saw that Daphne had slumped in the entrance way and was blowing her hair from her forehead.

She was right. The store's heating was set far too high.