I've washed my hair, ironed my dress and put on some slap. The candles are lit, the music's on low, the waiters are hovering, and on the other side of the flickering flame sits my hot date for the night - self-made multimillionaire Scott Alexander. He, in turn, is trying to catch his reflection in the back of a dessert spoon. And fretting about it.
'I usually try on 20 or 30 different outfits before I go out,' he sighs.
'It takes me hours to get ready because it's all down to what makes me look the most pumped up and muscly. I'm a bit of a perfectionist.'
He sighs again and starts twiddling with one of his three enormous diamond rings, checking his £52,000 Franck Muller watch ('Top of the range - Chelsea manager Jose Mourinho has one, but without the bling') and smoothing down his £500 PRPS designer jeans ('From Japan - same as David Beckham's').
'I'd describe my look as slick and stylish with a dash of extrovert,' he explains. 'What do you think?'
Speechless, I nod encouragingly, trying not to stare at his Botox-frozen forehead, the enormous £250,000 diamond crucifix dangling between his giant mahogany pecs, or the curranty nipples straining through the tight, black, stretchy Dolce & Gabbana top.
Scott, 31, a personal fitness trainer and 'ultimate lifestyle consultant' from Manchester, takes preening to a whole new level. He was an hour late for our date, so busy was he getting ready for it.
It is, however, the least you'd expect from
someone recently christened 'Vainest Man in Britain' - a man who sports a blindingly white £55,000 smile made from finest Japanese porcelain, admits to spending more than £500,000 a year on his appearance and tells me over dinner that every inch (yes, every inch) of his 6ft 4in, 16st, perfectly-honed body is hairless. 'Everything's gone, darling. It's all sorted.'
Ooh, crikey, mother! And, as if that little lot isn't enough, he has a tendency to refer to himself in the third person, as 'No. 1'.
'If I do something, I like to do it to perfection, yeah. Defeat's not an option. For me, second place is first loser. I want to be No. 1.'
Just in case he forgets his mantra, there are huge 'No. 1' tattoos on his right bicep and his back.
When he appeared on the ITV documentary Britain's Biggest Spenders in June, Scott stole the show. He snapped up a £5 million villa in Marbella, an entire town in Bulgaria (he wants to change its name to Alexander - 'Easier to say and a lot snappier') and a slew of £15,000 suits shot through with real gold thread.
He bragged about his £55,000 stereo system, £400-a-month dry cleaning bill, £5,000 Louis Vuitton football, £300,000-a-year D&G wardrobe ('I buy the whole collection, it's easier') and black Centurian American Express Card, saying: 'I've got one. So have P Diddy, LL Cool J and Prince Charles. It's a pretty exclusive club, but I don't know anyone who spends more money than me. There's nothing I can't obtain.'
Not surprisingly, he didn't go unnoticed by the TV-viewing public.
'The reaction was unbelievable,' he trills, his megawatt smile beaming. 'There's even been talk of my having my own TV show.
'Everyone's banging on about this vain thing, but I really don't think I am particularly vain - I just think it's important to look my best.'
So Paying £100,000 for daily growth hormone injections (the 'nearest thing to immortality and invincibility on the market') to keep the ageing process at bay isn't vanity?
Or throwing away your £50-a-pop D&G pants after wearing them just twice because they 'don't look boxfresh any more'?
Or spending thousands a month on facials, manicures, pedicures and cosmetic fillers to plump out lines? Isn't that all just the teeniest bit OTT?
'I spend a fraction of my money looking good,' he counters. 'People twist it and say I'm vain, but I put it down to lack of education. My physique's important to me and I put an awful lot of effort into it. Beckham and Brad Pitt are always nicely groomed, why not me?'
But hang on, Scott, do even the A-list hang £10,000 portraits of themselves on their living room wall, or have a picture of their rippling abs as their computer screensaver, or flick on their mobiles to show their dinner dates photos of themselves looking 'particularly ripped and shredded' (muscly and pumped up for those not up on the lingo)?
'Ok, yeah, maybe you've got a point,' he grins, suddenly sheepish. 'Probably not.'
With all this preening, some may question his sexuality. But Scott definitely has an eye for the ladies.
When he's not admiring his own reflection, he's constantly clocking all the blondes in the vicinity.
But life hasn't always been fast cars, St Tropez tans and disposable pants. He claims to have worked hard for it.
So who is the real Scott Alexander, the man behind the wall of muscle? First of all - and prepare yourself for this - he's not stupid.
'People think that just because you're big, you're not very intelligent. So I like shocking people.'
By his own admission, he was a 'skinny swot' at school in Chigwell, Essex, who had few friends, no social skills, took a part-time job to pay for extra tuition so he 'could get ahead in life' and was 'hopeless with the girls'.
After a degree in law at the University of Kent, he swopped ambitions to be a barrister ('I didn't want anyone putting a cap on my earnings when I can earn a million in a day or two') for stints as a personal fitness trainer, nightclub bouncer and undefeated cage fighter ('I felt I was invincible, and, suddenly, all the girls loved me').
Finally, he set up his own company. The Ultimate Lifestyle Group Inc. pampers uber-wealthy clients (many of whom he claims are celebrities met through his bouncer and fitness trainer jobs) with everything from diet and fitness advice to presenting them with investment opportunities.
He insists it isn't a concierge company, but a good chunk of his fortune comes from finding his clients flash cars at very short notice. He also has diamond-clad fingers in many pies - hotels, investments in America and property, including a 'very lucrative deal' somewhere in the United Arab Emirates - though not Dubai ('The profit's gone from there').
Scott loves celebrity. In fact, it's the only thing he works harder on than his extraordinary six-pack.
His chat clangs with dropped names: P Diddy is 'slick and cool and throws good parties', Arnold Schwarzenegger is 'the man, no one's more charismatic', and David and Victoria Beckham are 'really down-to-earth, good company and have a laugh'.
As he sips still mineral water, he tells me with childish delight that he uses the same face cream - Crystal Clear - as Jude Law and Madonna, the same aftershave - Comme des Garcons - as George Clooney, and that he and Beckham have the same hand-made £1,500 boots.
A £175,000 customised Rolex Oyster watch was apparently identical to the one bought by J-Lo for ex-fiance Ben Affleck. But whereas cheapskate J-Lo just had the strap decorated with diamonds, Scott went a step further and had the whole thing encrusted with diamonds and rubies.
'It looked great, but it was a bit tricky to tell the time,' he says.
Given that my type is generally more jeans, jumper and full head of hair than shaven, Botoxed and blingtastic, I'm not convinced ours is a match made in heaven.
And in some ways it's a shame because on paper - if you can look beyond the plucked eyebrows, tombstone teeth, silly pout and hilarious vanity - Scott's a good catch. He's tall, handsome (sort of), has an extraordinary body and is stinking rich.
As well as the £1.2 million Manchester penthouse, there's a London pad in Chelsea, the £5 million villa in Marbella, two Lamborghinis, a Porsche Cabriolet C2S, Rolls-Royce Phantom, Aston Martin and Range Rover Sport - oh, and if you fancied a change of scene, the Bulgarian town.
The only things he's baulked at so far are a yacht ('Too much hassle') and a private jet ('It's only a matter of time'), not least because he's determined to make his first £100million by the time he's 40.
Perhaps more to the point, though, what sort of woman is he looking for?
'Brunettes always look more classy,' he says kindly, 'but busty blondes get my attention. I usually go for Page 3 girls and glamour models, and they usually go for me.
'It goes without saying that I expect my partner to be "treble fit" and well groomed,' he adds, eyeing my messy hair and suddenly crumpled dress.
So far, so bad. 'I've dated a few investment bankers and people in the corporate world and they don't really understand the whole training/body thing and how important it is to look good. My mum wishes I'd go for someone a bit classier though - she's hated every single one of my girlfriends.'
And if someone's the teeniest bit overweight?
'Nope, sorry. They have to be in good shape. It's not that I don't appreciate female beauty in all its different forms, but it isn't for me. It's not arrogant, it's just how I choose to live my life.
'Oh, and although I'm an Aquarius, I always seem to go for Scorpios - which I shouldn't, because we're a terrible match.'
And what about true love? 'I've been in love twice and I'm in no hurry to go back there. I hate not being in control, and women are an uncontrollable variable.
'I hope I've made all my big mistakes, but I suspect some of them see me coming. So my priorities right now are money, success, power, health and fitness - in that order. Women-wise, I just want to have a bit of fun.'
Which, for Scott and his black AMEX-wielding mates, is going out what they call 'flexing'.
'We land in a few bars, dress real slick, drop a few bottles of Cristal and the girls come running. There's no one can match us on the spending stakes. But it's not like we're on the pull or will sleep with any one. We're just showing off.'
Most people want fame for all the trappings. Given that Scott already has all that, what have been the highlights so far?
'Appearing on Richard & Judy - they're legends, absolutely awesome,' he says, snapping open his mobile yet again to show a video of himself on their show, sporting an impossibly tight vest.
'Take a look - I'd been to the gym just before the show, so I was all pumped up and looking good. Richard said I was the ultimate man and even Judy looked quite impressed.
'Richard's a slick-looking guy - he must have had some work done, he's looking so good.'
And the worst? 'Being burgled while out here in Marbella.'
And, much more importantly, is he happy with the way he looks?
'Of course I'm not - who is? I'm always striving to look better. You can never be complacent if you're
No 1. I'm getting a new tattoo on my abs which says "Power, achievement, success and invincibility". And I'd like to be bigger, a bit more ripped and have better cheekbones.'
In general, however, things are looking pretty good. He's been approached to do a regular slot on the Sharon Osbourne show, has reportedly been offered his own show on one of Europe's biggest cable channels and has already won a part in a movie 'playing a gangster alongside some huge A-list stars'.
Indeed, he's in danger of becoming one of the celebrities he adores so very much. And, embarrassing though it is to admit, I'm the teeniest bit pleased for him.
Because, for all of his toe-curling statements ('My mates are always telling me to keep my big mouth shut') and ridiculous preening (before every photo, he scurries off to do 100 push-ups to get his arms and chest 'pumped'), for a huge, overtanned, rubbery-looking giant, Scott is strangely endearing.
He is kind, attentive, not nearly as stupid as he looks. And for all his big chat about power and money, he clearly adores his mum, dad and sister, former model Kirsty, 29, who all live outside Manchester ('I've seen them all alright'), plus the close group of friends who tease him relentlessly.
The following day when we meet up for a chat on his £270-a-day sunbed in a posh beach club, he's sufficiently polite to tell me that while I'm absolutely not his type, he could probably 'sort of' fancy me if I went on a 'very strict regime'.
If you're looking for an intellectual playmate with whom to discuss Proust, wander around the Tate or, more importantly, treasure your love handles, Scott is not your man.
But if you fancy a nice dinner paid for with crisp notes ('I've never let a woman pay and I never will'), a funny evening - laughing more at him than with him - a raft of farfetched celebrity trivia and some refreshingly honest and positive company, then he's worth a look.
Just don't expect any romantic overtures unless you're 'treble fit'. Because, as he so delicately puts it: 'I have never knowingly slept with anyone with cellulite - not even on a one-night stand.'
Source : http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-400222/Britains-vainest-man.html2404