Emma has just rung and sarcastically asked me if I was ever planning on asking her out again. After fighting back my initial reaction to answer ‘only if you’re going to put out this time,’ I told her that, in these days of equality, it was her turn to ask me. Which, amazingly enough, she did.

To be fair, her expected hatred of all things male has not materialised because it is clear that she simply dislikes everyone. I suspect that this is an attempt to remain aloof from the minions but it has backfired badly. The women, who were looking upon her as a potential saviour, now regard her as a traitor to her sex. The blokes are just relieved.

I always enjoy the day after a hangover. Each time it happens, it’s my own little victory over the demon drink.

A very worrying development at lunchtime. As we were walking down the Charing Cross Road, Emma put her arm through mine. Not even Liz has ever done that and it’s fair to say that it was a bit of a shock. Because as far as I’m concerned, walking along arm in arm with a bird means that you’re a couple. And although she’s nice and all that, I don’t think of us in those terms at all.