As National Insect Week comes to an end (we managed to get it on several digital radio stations), our latest recipe series is just hitting its stride.

Psycho-chef Membury Blumen-marvellous has created another themed ice cream treat for our Slowrose client. Just don't eat the black bits - they're not raisins.

It's this sort of innovation that saw our loveliest, most reassuringly expensive retailer walk off with lots of shiny toys at The Grocer Golds. Bit disappointed with the male totty at the event though. Fifteen men for every girl, but most of them looked like secondhand car salesmen (and behaved like them - greasy hands everywhere!).

I wore my white Halston Jersey frock as a tribute to SJP in Sex in the City 2 (ignore the critics - what do they know?). Andreas thinks he might be able to get the stains out with a mixture of Jeyes fluid and Dolestretcher's new Chancellor-proof 99p wine.

Talking about the Budget, much celebration at P&F as no mention of withdrawing tax relief on trust funds. PR lifestyles assured.

Not that it will last. Karoline (with a K) tells us we have to look east. I point out that once you get past Holborn it's all pretty ghastly, but it turns out that she doesn't mean London.

She puts her fingers to her eyes to make them go slitty, and says in a cod-Cato accent "look at wha' Sainbully's ah doin'. Tha' footah is in Chinah."

Humiliating. For her, of course, and for "Sainbully's", Tesco's sloppy second sites await. There may be a recce trip in the offing, so we're pretending to be nice.

Office World Cup party on Thursday. Client's products all over the boardroom table. Ice cream untouched. Miranda and I decamped to Raspberry Tart (the afternoon club for those in the PR know) to avoid the footie and consider the "footah".

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