2002-07-30 - 6:49 p.m.

Back to servile minionage at work, which suits me just fine as, like an expectant mollusc with thunder on the way, this is the clam before the storm. Next week, when I have to navigate the choppy media waters solo for a full five days, which is scary, although the fact that I get to charge them right up the hoo-ha for it acts as a natural (ok, financial) sedative. Nothing went too wrong yesterday; no pictures of burning crosses or exhibitions of bestiality inadvertently ended up on the front cover, so it may be OK. We�ll see.

This unusually high work rate is doing nothing for my creativity, mind. Remember when I was unemployed and I used to be funny? Ah, those were the days. Stuff used to happen to me then, as well�what�s going on this week? Nothing but a particularly aggravating battle with the postal service over a missing bottle of contact lens solution. Well pickle my gherkins, isn�t THAT just the height of unabashed excitement?

The weather�s not helping. It�s muggy and uncomfortable, and I see my fellow commuters are helping to put the �hum� in �humidity� by going on some kind of mass synchronised non-deodorant usage experimentation, which makes every carriage a sheer olfactory delight, that is if you happen to enjoy the smell of rancid man-made fibres. It�s one of those times when you don�t just wish you worked from home, but from a water park, complete with slides and soap nymphettes in swimwear serving hourly cocktails. Where are THOSE jobs?

I�m off to walk around the house naked, though I don�t want to leave you with that mental image, so I�ll just add: Angelina Jolie.