Huge success for the agency this week, more or less inventing a condition which doesn't really exist - orthorexia - and getting the Mirror to cover it in detail.

A whole new healthcare industry is about to be spawned, with therapists and supplements, support groups and special diets. Orthorexia, it transpires, is an unhealthy obsession with eating healthily.

According to Karoline (with a K) it's about to sweep the nation and offers untold opportunity for almost all our food clients. "Most of our lot make unmitigated crap," she helpfully explains, "but it can all be repositioned as special food to help orthorexics recover, and sold at a huge premium."

Being humble (ha ha) and the hired help we have to nod appreciatively and say things like "Great idea, it's bound to succeed". (Actually, it could probably help finish off the bits of the fresh produce industry that e-coli hasn't already killed.)

After this, we all retire to Kandypants (the PR's nitespot of choice) for a stiff drink or six. Which makes it slightly alarming to read that most people think a Saturday booze binge is OK as long as they behave the rest of the week. What about Tuesday and Thursday booze binges? And Wednesday and Friday come to that. And Monday if it's been a trying weekend.

It's the weather, not e-coli, that's done for Jersey Royals though. They have shrivelled up through lack of rain apparently. "Rather like a dingo's testicles," says Miranda, who must have had Springwatch on the telly again. Daddy used to call them Jersey Bastards. The potatoes, not the testicles. That was because he thought we were descended from the Duke of Clarence and the current royals are impostors.

When I mentioned this to Karoline she said "You're PR royalty working here darling. Isn't that good enough?"