I was in the sodding Independent! Look!
As was my good (virtual) friend Karen, serial mistress, who I keep hearing on the radio. Good on you woman.
Bought the Indy on Saturday as the Guardian was out of stock at my local corner shop (for some reason I feel it is important to point out that I am a Guardian reader...smug smug smuuuug). Hubby chucks me the supplements and I nearly choke on my Tesco croissant. Of course, Hubby is none the wiser - in fact, it was rather thrilling to see him reading the article later that evening, salivating over the details. Lets just hope he doesn't log on, eh?
James doesn't know about my blog and I think it's probably best to keep it that way. After all, I feel the painfully narcissistic process of reading about oneself in what is essentially a diary would do nothing for the boy's already-damaged sense-of-self. We haven't seen each other for a while...I think it's best to take a genuine break from your lover every now and then. Let's face it, familiarity definitely breeds contempt.
At work, currently. Andrew has turned his attentions back to the younger in the office, and is currently terrorising our new intern, Jessie May. I think I just saw him deliberately walk in slow-motion past her desk, like some displaced Baywatch lifeguard.