I am, once again, facing the ghastly prospect of having to write a pitch proposal when there’s nothing remotely interesting to say about the brand. I’m up against deadline (ie should have been sent yesterday), suffering from the Godzilla of all hangover headaches and completely without inspiration. Though how a fairly dull biscuit brand reinventing itself as a marginally less dull biscuit brand is supposed to inspire, I don’t really know.

Plus I’ve still got last night’s frock on, which I know may provoke ribald comment when my esteemed colleagues roll in, mid-morning.

I’m also now at the stage where bits of the evening are fighting their way through the memory fog and revealing themselves like Technicolor postcards on Google Glass. I can’t turn them off. So the vision of one of our more staid clients (brand manager, unhealthy snacks for kids) putting the pole at Strawberry Moon’s to maximum boogieing use while Miranda takes his belt off with her teeth is not only impressive and frightening but also seems worryingly indelible.

I’m not sure how it all happened. As we finished out meeting yesterday afternoon, someone mentioned that we can comfort ourselves with the news that we now all have pre-diabetes. In other words, we don’t have diabetes. This seemed like a big leap forward in public consciousness for the whole ‘pre’ concept and a good excuse for a drink. (Karoline with a K, has made it clear that we can all have a pre-pay rise whenever we like.)

God. I thought I was on my own, but Miranda has just emerged from under the desk opposite. She is pointing out that I have what look like crushed Hula Hoops all over the back of my dress.