I have to say it, this episode got me so choked up that I actually felt this sort of lump thing in my throat. (What is that, anyway?) It takes a herculean effort, a stroke of genius, to provoke that sort of reaction in iconic soup, dear reader, or at the very least a substantial increase in the Nick Fix. (A gazillion Naughty Nick stars can't hurt, either.) And see how she's already started referring to herself in the third person, to distance herself from her disturbing emotions?

The episode plays with the novel idea of starting at the end and eventually coming back full circle, only this time there's a point, as Alvin tries to explain at the beginning. But just to avoid confusion, let's you and me start at the start, which is Monday morning, with Nick bringing flowers to his mother's grave on what is presumably the anniversary of her death. At the end of Paternity, Burton said that Anne would have been 59 this year. I'll bet you didn't know that Nick's reaction to that comment, which you probably misread as "Yes, that's a sad fact," actually meant "Judas Priest, dad, can't you even get her freaking age right?" (Go ahead, take a look - he really is thinking that.) Because her gravestone shows that she would have turned 61. (The stonemason could have made a mistake, of course, in which case Burton would have sued for damages. Perhaps the case is still pending. The wheels of justice turn slowly, and sometimes a spoke does fall off.)

Burton arrives with a bigger, prettier, more expensive bunch of flowers. He instigates a bonding exercise with his son, but it goes horribly wrong and they launch into a fight over Sheila (and here I must agree with Nick - what possible use could a poodle have for his car lease and cell phone?). Neither Kirk & McGee or Legal Services has any work for Nick on this, his first day post-F&A, so he stalks the corridors looking for Ms Barstow. Maybe she's free. Maybe she has thirty minutes. But instead he runs into his dear old friend Colin, who we first met in Feeding Frenzy. (He was just a regular guy back then, but his TV show got cancelled and Debbie left him for a doe-eyed Colombian drug baron, so now he dons a suspicious-looking suit and wanders the pastel halls of the corporate world in search of malleable, stressed-out, type-A yuppies and, of course, meaning in his own sorry life.)

Now this coincidence I will allow, because it's a plot complication.

Nick looks at Colin with just a little more interest than he probably should, but says not a word. He has other things to worry about. The receptionist is a bit of a cow; his F&A clients are deserting him in droves; McGee wants him to hand over his remaining clients and assigns him mundane mergers and annoying acquisitions instead of fascinating fulfilling finance (I'd be pissed off, too - nothing beats the sheer thrill of corporate finance, and you can quote me on that); nobody accessorised his office or even provided a coat hook... and just as Nick settles into his lumpy genuine-vinyl chair with a broken gas-lift to stare at the crummy view, who should barge into his office but Colin, who proceeds to snort a white powdery substance off the wood-veneer credenza. Nick, his fists clenched helplessly, still says not a word, though what he probably should have said is: "Excuse me, would you mind doing that somewhere else?" He is curiously fastidious about cleaning up the mess afterwards - did you notice that? It's important for later!

Finally Nick does get a case - a former F&A client, Henry Sloane, whom Nick seems to genuinely like. Maybe he's just happy to see a familiar face who's not going to stick narcotics in his pocket. Sloane is selling his company to his son, represented by Burton, in a sweetheart deal that gets Nick hot under the collar because his own daddy never gave him so much as twelve square feet of office space, let alone a 40-million-dollar company. Not content with screwing up his own relationship with his dad, Nick sets about destroying this father/son relationship as well. He's a helluva lawyer, is our Nick.

A couple of nicely unresolved subplots about abused and abandonned children provide light relief from Nick's gut-wrenching will-he-or-won't-he predicament, the scenes cutting back and forth so choppily, with the camera shaking and swinging and jerking about all over the place, that I'm wondering if Nick was the only one on the funny stuff this week. Nevertheless... if you knew anything at all about iconic soup you'd know that she perks right up when babies are involved. It would've been nice to see more of Lulu's story here (she's still yelling at judges, mind), and the short scene with Nick where she tells him about it (the baby, not the judge; he really doesn't need to know about the judge) is quite sweet. As for "the sun went down" - um, that's, like, a metaphor, right?

The pressures are mounting and Nick heads over to Colin's pad (way too late for an electric lunch, buddy) with a mind to tell him to stay away from him and his new colleagues. What he actually says is: "Don't come by the office," and he says it just so, you see. No, really, it's sublime, and Colin doesn't miss a trick, for he knows that what Nick really means is: "Don't call me, I'll call you." And here he is, you know, calling. (This is where iconic soup choked on her noodles for the third time.) You can tell Nick's in trouble when he manages to maintain eye contact with someone for more than two seconds - this one could be an all-time record - and sure enough he's soon pocketing a little something special before heading into a meeting the next day spouting gibberish, which results in the firing of both firms by the Sloanes. Mr McGee is stunned into silence.

Burton has plenty to say, although Nick would rather hear the sound of his own voice. He thinks Burton has no idea what he's talking about. If nothing else, Burton's worked with his son for almost five years - he probably knows exactly what he's talking about when it comes to picking up on Nick's aberrant behaviour. He looks about ready to dissolve into tears as he anticipates a sleepless night pondering the question that every parent dreads: When your kid goes bad, how long do you keep holding onto him? Burton opts for tough love, which after all seemed to work just fine when Nick was twelve. Nick sneers and leaves. McGee makes the very helpful suggestion of a personality transplant, pointing out the firm's excellent medical insurance program that Nick may wish to take advantage of. Nick sneers again and leaves again, unrepentant to the last, locks his door and tips over his mom's picture. iconic soup breaks into a cold sweat and reminds herself to breathe.

And here we are back where we didn't start - 2 a.m. Friday night at The Incline for Alvin's birthday party, which is scarily turning into Philosophy 101. Nick's throwing down tequilas, and Burton's hanging around outside because he is still holding onto his kid. That's just what you do.

There's no doubt about it - put a little coke up his nose, a little alcohol in his bloodstream, and Nick turns into a regular dickhead. (I would have said f*ckwit if I wasn't being a lady about it.) You know, not even I would be keen to find out how well he treats women, even if I did know what Dina knows, and no I'm not running a temperature and yes it really is iconic soup writing this sentence. Still, his nervous earnestness is endearing and he takes Lulu's rejection with a fumbling sort of grace and... Okay, strike what I said; I still want him bad.

He ends his eventful week with a spritely Irish jig on his jacket. He also gets punched in the head, but we'll deal with that next week when the bruise comes up.

Phew!

I rated Nick's suits from Monday to Friday - not because I had nothing better to do, but rather as a soothing activity to restore my sanity after the above ordeal was inflicted upon me.

Monday Brown suit, white shirt, olive tie. Just horrible, although it does match his in-tray. [1/5]
Tuesday Mid-grey suit, white shirt, charcoal tie. Smart but dull, bordering on funeral attire. [2/5]
Wednesday Black suit, blue shirt, dark tie with pale diamonds. Doesn't quite work as an ensemble, but we're getting there. [3/5]
Thursday Mid-grey suit, blue shirt, stylish light blue and grey finely striped tie. Nice. Faint diagonal stripes in the suit fabric make for a stylish touch (don't ask me what the technical name for that is). [4/5]
Friday Black suit, white shirt, finely checked tie with blue spots. Okay suit but - come on, Nick, you were doing so well - tie invokes nausea. [3/5] rising to [4/5] once tie is loosened, jacket is discarded and bruise is added to right temple.

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* Brings flowers to his mom's grave.

* Tries to fill his social calendar with penguins instead of coke.

* Tries to ring Burton - possibly to apologise for losing the client (I could be wrong about that).

* Does the noble (if stupid) macho thing in defence of Lulu's honour.

• Nick's mother thought he was charming and handsome.
• Alvin decided to represent children after a case 20 years ago involving a woman whom he helped keep custody of her child. The child later died. He would probably have been happier as a millionaire in private practice.
• Alvin is turning 51. He is not a religious man. He lives within walking distance of The Incline.
• Nick prefers to work on corporate finance cases.
• Nick's mother, Anne Lynn Fallin, was born in 1940 and died in 1982.
• Randall Kirk has no soul.
• Bloody well everyone in Pittsburgh has offered Lulu a job.

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