Caught up in the excitement of a Saturday night at home, Skye, Mike and I get far too excited about watching Annie Hall and decide that what we really want to do is pretend to be chickens.
In other news, my German workmate offered to marry me so I could stay, which was very kind, if not terribly sincere. His reasoning was that as his country has bombed the bollocks out of Britain and he's allowed to be here, it seems very unfair that I, loyal subject of Liz, should be forced to leave. He is a nice man and together we have completely destroyed an author, which has given us no end of delight - I like to think that he will always remember me as the editor who had the guts to purposely forget a foreword, thus bringing a teetering author to the brink of insanity, which led to nasty letters allowing us to break a contract. Unfortunately, I shall remember it as my biggest boo boo to date. But with such a satisfactory outcome.
With only three weeks of work left it is with a great deal of delight that I have started agreeing to some outlandish requests from commissioning editors and authors, safe in the knowledge that I will not have to see them through to fruition. But I shall miss the gang - we've become so close the last few months as we've given each other the flu, in a continuing vicious cycle where one of us gets better only to catch it again from someone in design a month or so later. We compare symptoms with gusto, warning the American that his turn is next. He laughs in the manner of someone who does not yet believe. His time will come.
Socially, there have been drinks, some cocktails, some thefting of condiments that I had nothing to do with, unless you count the fact that the getaway vehicle used to transport the goods was my handbag, some watching of reality tv, which has just led me to hate everyone on the telly, and quite a lot of eating stuff. It's autumn: time to eat and get the all-important layer of plumpness needed to protect one from the chill of London. Which I shall then magically shed when I get home. I just need to lay a trap for the pixies in the backyard so as to get my hands on some fairy dust, which, when applied correctly, works in a similar manner to a gym workout. But way faster. Like overnight. I know it's true, I read it in Cosmo.