I think the conversion is now complete and the last ounce of my masculinity has left my body. I have bought a new vacuum. Although, that in itself wasn't enough to convince me, there were a worrying series of events that lead up to the purchase.

I am standing at Europe's largest computer fair surrounded by boys toys. There are sleek little gadgets for picking locks, speakers for iPods, mouses that have little flashy scroll wheels and even a stall selling replica guns. I am looking for a wireless mouse and keyboard so I can become even more geeky. (And also because my current keyboard has three and a half years worth of Bran Flakes sitting between the keys.)

I find a nice looking keyboard and mouse but I cannot decide if I should buy it. On the one side, my current keyboard isn't broken and doesn't need replacing and the new one is expensive. But it is black, smart, sleek and cool. It is the keyboard equivalent of Match of the Day's Garth Crooks.

After deciding that the money is better in my pocket, I head off home - via Argos, where I buy the aforementioned vacuum cleaner from. But there is so much choice. Bagged or Bagless? What level of sucking power do I need? How many levels of filtration? Upright or cylinder or compact? What length of cord? Do I need a telescopic tube?

The fact that I procrastinate over spending the same amount of money over a geek toy and yet willingly part with my hard-earned for a new Hoover - is not the main reason I cast doubt on my testosterone-isity. What is more worrying for me is that, like a woman picking a car, I ignored all the different specifications and didn't do any value for money calculations - I just picked the one in the prettiest colour.