I got told for the fourth time on Sunday that I look like Bryan from Westlife. Now the first few times I dismissed as poppycock and blither, but I’m getting concerned. Do I look like that goodlooking chap? And is that a good thing or bad thing? That’s Bryan on the left there by the way, not me…

After this weekend, I’ve come to the conclusion that there should be an added clause in work contracts – if you socialise in the same town as your manager, on no account should you talk to each other outside of the office. This became especially true last night, when for the second time in as many weeks, I found my manager, who is a picture of authority and efficiency by day, in an impressively drunken state in our local nightclub. The whole authority aspect has taken a battering – I can barely look at her without smirking now. In her words, “Oh my god, I never want to see you again, i’m far too drunk”. I hope she was joking; I’m expecting to turn up for work tomorrow…

Head, shoulders, cheese and toast, cheese and toast.