Steve King, is a Men’s Grooming Expert, broadcaster and journalist. He is a former editor of Men’s Health Magazine, as well as numerous women’s magazines. He was also the resident expert on Channel 4’s Richard & Judy Show and wrote fashion and grooming columns in both The Sunday Express and The Mail on Sunday.

He is the foster parent to three children, aged 11, six and two-years-old and is a true believer that women are not the only ones who need a helping hand in the “looking their best” department. Steve is a grooming guru to be reckoned with and will stop at nothing to help turn the nation’s men into “Dishy Daddies!”

Oh, I used to hate Sports Day at school. I was the chubby kid who was ALWAYS last! And in those days  it was all about being the winner and No.1 .

It took me years to get over the horrors of those days. But, I did, and I moved forward… until very recently that is. With the kids’ sports day looming, I had secretly been adding on to my gym routine. I reckoned, seeing as I was fairly fit, in decent shape and had been ‘practicing’, I stood a really good shot at ranking in the parents’ race.

The day arrived. I spent a ridiculous amount of time deciding on an outfit. Seriously. I almost went for the sporty look – thinking I might ‘psych’ the other parents out with my sleek all-in-black co-ordinating running kit. But, in the end, I went all ‘modern dad’ – and chose a great A&F outfit – teamed with some flip-flops, which I reckoned I could ditch at the starting line of the Parents’ Race.

So we get there. Prime position. Front row, smack bang in the middle. I sized-up the competition. I was relieved. I reckoned I was in pretty-good form.

It begins. The kids parade out. The Head makes a speech. A long speech. She then announces that this year there will be “No parents race.” It had become too competitive apparently. As if? Who would do such a thing? I mean it’s all about the kids – right?

So the speech continued. On and on. I switched off but heard the odd phrase. These days it was all about the house team your child had been placed in, and that individuals weren’t singled out – or so I thought! The games commenced. And they went on, and on and on. Seriously NASA put a man on the moon in less time than this took.

After what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, sitting in those tiny infant chairs, legs double bent, back aching and the sun baking, there was a panic. The boredom, I mean tension, was broken.

There was a commotion. Parents became restless and then it was announced. There was a missing belt! The three-legged race “may need to be abandoned” It was as if WW3 had been declared. Me being me, I stood up and said: “Use my belt.” Promptly whipping off the Abercrombie & Fitch number from my matching shorts (was going for the cool, hip dad look as I said) and I saved the day. I was THE daddy.

So, round 348 starts (seriously the Olympic opening ceremony was over quicker) with the three-legged race and our oldest was hot off the starting line. She was flying. I was excited. I started cheering her name and received a few glares from the other parents (remember it’s about the house team they are in and not the individual) Anyway. I didn’t care. I wanted her to see I was cheering. I shouted louder. I stood up on the mini-chair. I raised my arms and screamed her name. She gave me a fleeting glance – and slowed down. What was she doing?

She looked horrified. OMG – what was wrong?

The woman next to me screamed. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Had I been too loud? Was I not ‘being sporting?’

HELL NO – it was none of the above.

I was standing on an infant chair with in my Calvin Klein pants, with my trendy shorts round my ankles. THE SHAME!

Then, as I tried to grab my shorts and rescue my exposed undercarriage, I toppled head-first off the chair and landed on the grass in front of the assembled 200 parents. Back-side in the air, head down, mouth-eating grass. I won’t lie. I definitely heard a few ‘wolf-whistles’ but when I looked round most of the parents had now changed direction with their mobile phones and were in full paparazzi mode, trained on me – filming – as I flailed around and regained some dignity.

Caught on camera. Hey but at least they were CK pants. I keep telling myself that. It’s making ME feel better. It could have been worse – couldn’t it? Well, I suppose I wasn’t arrested!

Anyway, that said, it’s time for me to tell you about a few products I am currently LOVING! Check them out on… daddy deals.