Thursday, Mar. 30, 2006 - 4:46 p.m.

There I was, thinking that it�s impossible to feel grumpy (even my hormones have been thwarted) whilst wearing a red-with-white-polka-dots top and an apple green cardy and the cutest pair of twee round-toed almost-mary janes ever. And trousers, obv, but they are black and work serious and not worth detailing as they are not adding to my cheer.

Then, one of the directors, who is off to Paris next week for a couple of meetings spread leisurely over several days, tells me that the owner of the company had words with her about going because �These are meetings Ms Atavist should be taking; but, oh poop, the Eurostar ticket is not transferable.�

And she doesn�t even want to go.

As an act of zero consolation, I am cat-sitting for a night or two next week in an almost-Cotswolds village. This is largely unrelated to the Paris/cheer issue, except that the owner of the cats shares an office with the Paris-bound director.

I am still not sleeping.

I am beginning to suspect Spaceboy may just be a little bit smitten; but I�ve been wrong before.

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