Well, Dear Diary, what a day! It all started with a swim with Rupie. That dreadful fellow was there, calls himself an American but i think he isn't really. Pol Potbelly, that's how I think of him. He had a red folder with "Son Protection Factor 1" on the cover and started waving it at me as soon as Rupie followed me up the ladder out of the pool, breathing heavily. I commented that there were a few sub-editors available who could correct his spelling and the dreadful fellow just muttered about "not told her yet then." At which Rupert explained to me that I'd have to give up my nice office and lie low for a while. I don't mind the lying but that office was super. Boo hoo.
It turns out that while I was successfully editing the NOTW some of the staff were running around doing bad things. I don't see how I was expected to know - do people think I bug offices and hack reporters' mobiles, for god's sake! Now the great unwashed are screaming for blood and I'm the one who has to make the sacrifice. Still, I'm used to great responsibility and if Poppa Bear asks me, I'll do it. That bloody Elizabeth wouldn't, I bet.
Rupie had my letter of resignation ready (always thoughtful and a genius for detail, that man). Asked if I could delete bits and change a few words and he said better not, that's partly why we're in this mess. Odd thing to say but apparently he has lots on his mind at the moment. Still, "As chief executive of the company, I feel a deep sense of responsibility for the people we have hurt and I want to reiterate how sorry I am for what we now know to have taken place," isn't a bad way of putting it because of course I didn't know. So there.
Called Charlie and he was bloody useless as usual. "You'll have more time to take Dave for another ride" was his best suggestion. Honestly, the man's horse-obsessed.
Rupert and Hoo Flung Dung thought I should give the Ivy a miss and we ended up having Marks and Spencers sandwiches in the office. No wonder the staff complain about working conditions! Haven't these people heard of truffles? You need roast poulet with foie gras stuffing, pommes sarladaises & truffle jus at a time like this, not crayfish tails, whatever they are.
Not too much to pack as I'd kept the office pretty empty in case the chief exec wanted it back, but a little twinge as I put my journalism award in a box (Most Likely To Get Out Of Warrington). Then there's the pic of me at the Police Bravery Awards in 2005. Happy days. Still, chin up Becks old girl. Onward and upward, I thought as I told Mandy to press the lift button. "Up or down" she asked me. Cow.
Phoned Sam when I got home but she said she was busy watching the Filipino maid in case she gave the children non-organic fruit so I called Jeremy. He's alwaya a hoot and he had me laughing in no time, promising me a job as the new Stig, or I could have Hammond's job. Nearly blurted out what Rupie had promised me but bit my lip in time.
Charlie's just arrived home. The insensitive clod looked at my box of souvenirs and absolutely chortled at the photo of me with the police. "Police Bravery Awards", he said, "more like Bribery Awards." He has the mind of a tabloid reader. I remember Sam's words when he ate the Cameron goldfish last Christmas: "you must have been at the back of the queue when they were giving out Old Etonians." Bitch. Make note in Blackberry to call her tomorrow and point out how Dave's hair seems to be thinning even more.
Well, time for my beauty sleep. No horse's head joke tonight - Charlie took my point about him benefiting from a night in the spare room. If he's not careful he'll be added to my list. Oh yes, my droogs, I have a list ...
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