Some surprise in the office to see Karoline (with a K) sashaying in on Monday morning (ie: 2.30pm) in full woman of the 1990s PR power-dressing pomp (if battleships can sashay, that is). We joke that this is the sort of behaviour of someone going for their first job interview for 20 years and then the horrific truth hits us. K is looking for a job elsewhere. The horror in this instance will belong to her new colleagues. It’s unalloyed joy for us.

Alas, the euphoria is short-lived. As it turns out, K has simply come prepared in case she gets “the call” (and a £3.8m golden hello) from “another of those struggling grocers, looking for one of the leading marketers of her generation to take control.” She is adamant that “if bloody Dave Lewis can do it, so can I” because “he was my junior on the Fixodent account in 1994” and “he used to get me a Shapers sandwich from Boots at lunchtime.”

Thirty years on, this isn’t a good advert for either Dave or Shapers and, as the phone steadfastly refuses to ring, Karoline becomes ever-more morose. By 3.30 she’s locked in her office with a bottle of our whisky client’s Founder’s Reserve and is starting to break things.

Terry from the postroom starts playing his Christmas CD at full volume in an attempt to cheer everyone up. Apparently he hasn’t seen this week’s Shoppercentric survey, which reveals that hearing carols before December renders people suicidal. By the time Miranda has taken a promotional axe (free gift in our Forestry Commission ‘choose your own Christmas tree’ competition) to his boombox all is quiet, save for the snoring of shattered dreams filtering under Karoline’s office door.