My day, in a nutshell:

Ringing telephone.

"Schmance Lastname."

"Schmance, I've just spoken with such-and-such about the so-and-so allocation, and we have a problem/question/terrible turn of events."

Is it possible that I need a vacation? Just wondering. A girl in my office just came back from her honeymoon at a very posh hotel in the West Indies and, of course, now I wanna go. You know that I am travel-obsessed, which is the clinical term for the particular disorder I happen to have, and I cannot be held responsible for what happens when someone goes somewhere fabulous and comes back and tells me about it.

I will go to the West Indies alone if I must. Just you watch. Either that, or I will spend the next two weeks reading all about it on the internet.

Off to sleep now so I can dream about people treating me nicely at a posh resort on the beach . . . "Cold towel, Miss Schmance? Rum drink, Miss Schmance?"

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