VIEW FROM THE GROUND FLOOR: People are asking more and more about the reality of what they are being asked to buy, be it books, stocks or crab claws

In the utterly brilliant and probably most insightful political series of the past 20 years, Yes Minister, there is an episode in which the newly elected Prime Minister, Jim Hacker, makes his first broadcast to the nation. The major issue, of course, is what he should wear to address his people. According to his advisers, a dark suit represents traditional values, a light suit looks businesslike and a lightish jacket with a darkish waistcoat implies an identity problem.

The demise of "dress-down Fridays" in many hitherto go-getting companies has seen the chinos and Ralph Lauren sports shirts, replaced with the ultra-traditional dark suit. In some cases the ubiquitous pinstripe has made yet another comeback.

This has eliminated the identity problems of many men who struggled with the dress-down concept.

It also serves to emphasise to potential customers that the company concerned is not some fly-by-night, ephemeral name with big offices and an even bigger cash burn, but a serious business with a serious product to sell, which will still be around in - oh, even a year from now.

I suppose when the annual accounts are falling short of investor expectations, the least the companies concerned can do is make their employees look serious.

I used to love dress-down Fridays because at 6.30 a.m. on a normal weekday the stress factor of trying to put on a pair of tights without ripping them was always immense.

Fridays gave me the opportunity to forget the struggle and pull on a pair of jeans instead. However, I would never have dreamed of meeting clients dressed quite so informally and so kept an emergency suit in the office just in case. And, while I was never one for spending hours doing face-painting before hightailing it to my desk either, the bottom drawer contained a selection of products designed to rid me of the bags under my eyes and the haggard frown above my brow so that, in representing my company, I always looked bright-eyed and businesslike. (Well, that was the objective; it may sometimes have fallen short of its target.)

Now, of course, things have changed somewhat. Working from home changes the wardrobe forever. According to a recent newspaper survey, many home workers sit at the kitchen table in shorts and a T-shirt (which leads me to believe that they have sky-high heating bills or else have emigrated to Australia) or else they work in their pyjamas. To be honest, I think I'll have started down the slippery slope when I sit in front of the computer in my jammies.

In fact, although working from home should make me completely flexible in terms of attire, I really can't do anything until I'm dressed properly. Putting on the right outfit creates a mindset of work, even if the mainstay of the ensemble is still a pair of jeans.

Today, however, it's the tracksuit and sweatshirt, owing to the fact that I was at the booksellers' conference in Kinsale over the weekend and have been out every night this week.

The social diary of an "at-home" worker is generally a swathe of blank months followed by one week of frantic activity in which all the designer gear comes into play. Dressing up is great for a couple of days but it's really good to dress down again and, fortunately, the only sentient being I need to impress is the reformed drug addict cat.

I wrote about the booksellers' conference a couple of years ago, where the main topics on the agenda were the imminent arrival of the euro and the threat of e-books to the traditional bookseller.

E-books do exist but, like everything to do with technology, haven't taken over the world as the techies prophesied and the income stream from them is still marginal.

The euro is, of course, yesterday's news, so the conference tackled issues like globalisation, more accurate sales information and something to do with a type of people called econnectors, which the managing director of my publishing company tried to explain to me at 2 a.m. on Sunday but which, I'm afraid, got lost between gin and tonics.

The informal discussions between the British and Irish delegates touched, again, on the subject of our respective economies. Despite the fallout from plunging stock markets over the past two years, the Irish are still incredibly more upbeat than the British, who continue to bemoan their sub-standard industrial infrastructure and perpetual traffic jams.

Interestingly, the British seem to regard the state of their railways and roads as a sign of failure, whereas we look at our overcrowded trains and impassable roads as a badge of economic growth.

Having spent so much time on bookish things, I almost felt like a fish out of water (or at least a lemon out of a gin) when I then met a friend in the IFSC's Excise Bar. I don't know whether it's a policy based on their location in a financial area and the fact that financial institutions have been getting some bad press lately, but the bar staff insisted on immediate payment for the drinks as they were delivered.

Since we intended to have some bar food I thought a reasonable payment method would have been to put everything on the one bill to be dealt with when we left. But no, the drinks had to be paid for first. However, when we got the food, the drinks that accompanied it were on the food bill. The drinks we had afterwards had to be paid for separately once again. (For those of you who think that the drink motif in this week's column is rather prevalent - well, there are weeks like that.)

I was, of course, tempted to tell them what to do with their selection box of bills but I was in my mellow bookish mood and not my snappy dealing persona and so didn't. Nor did I tell them that drizzling some peanut flavoured oil over lettuce does not, in fact, constitute a Thai salad.

It is actually quite a nice place to be but, like so many things over the past few years, it's a triumph of style over substance. And it seems to me that people are beginning to ask more and more about the substance of what they're being asked to buy. Whether it's books, stocks or crab claws.