Why does he do this to me? Just as I was closing everything down, and getting ready to leave, Boss calls from the back of a London black cab, asking me to book a restaurant for five people. He mentions three or four restaurants, which I dutifully call, and I can smell the garlic wafting down the 'phone, so hungry am I. No joy. London restaurants are booked up on Thursday evenings. Who has a table for five at 8.30? None of his suggested restaurants, that's for sure. They almost snigger at me for my audacity in expecting them to have a free table so late on a Thursday evening. Oh, for heavens sakes. I make myself a cuppa soup, and keep trying. Finally, I get a table for five booked in a salubrious restaurant that I actually visited once when I was a Londoner.

I call him with the good news, having called him several times with disappointing news, but reassuring him that I was still trying. He was clearly in an ale house, and seemed bewildered by my news of a table booking for 8.30pm. In truth, he sounded bemused to hear from me at all. "It's almost 7pm, Bridie," he said, "Why are you at work?"

He then told me that one of his guest's PA's had booked a table some time ago, and he apologised for not telling me half an hour ago. Well, great!

And, good old guest's PA. Full brownie points, bitch!

I do miss my Big, Bad, Handsome Man when I get home to a microwave meal (although microwave meals are underrated - yes, I know, you can't beat fresh spinach, Mum) - I do hope I will see him this weekend, and enjoy some of his wonderful cooking.

Wonder what Boss has up his sleeve for me tomorrow? Painting the Cistine chapel, perhaps? Counting the grands of sand on the beach? Translating Ulysses into Sanskrit? Can't wait. Just can't wait.