I've just realised that with my sister back in Wales, and my boyfriend trapped at Ye Olde Call Centre, the flat is mine for the night. Well, with the exception of the builders that are bouncing around on the scaffolding outside like mountain goats who are late for a meeting.

Or do I strip down to t-shirt and pants, whack Girls Aloud on the stereo and jump about hollering into a banana masquerading as a microphone?

Briefly emerging from beneath a shroud of grief to blog. I know life must go on and all that jazz, but really, how can it....?

Our manager got fired yesterday. Well, the official line is he has taken 'early retirement', but after the monstrous fuck-ups he made last week, I don't think it was his choice to enter the realms of SAGA day trips, and over 50 insurance plans, brought to you by the lovely June Whitfield. As a result, both working hours and stress levels have dropped dramatically amongst the staff. Well except me, 'cos I'm leaving dontcha know?