So, I discover half an hour ago that it's Pancake Day. I overhear a comment being made in a murky corridor. and I raise my eyebrows. I'm flabbergasted that I didn't receive prior notification. When I was younger, the prospect of pancakes was something that would induce hyperactivity for, ooh, days beforehand. Today, I have to go on the internet to check that it's really true. Annoyingly, I mistyped and found something called a Dat Pancake Evaluator. Sadly it doesn't evaluate pancakes, but then again I always thought that I was the best at evaluating pancakes. That's the way it should stay. Don't wanna give no pancake to no machine.

I tried typing “Shroce Tuesday” into Google to see if anything similarly interesting cropped up. It didn't.

*

A friend of mine spent Sunday taking photos of her brother in various compromising positions with a model in a hotel room, for her portfolio. I note with interest that my sister has never assembled such a portfolio. Ever. I would remember something like that. Apparently he had a look of permanent pleasure and surprise on his face for about 6 hours. “Thank you, sis,” he said at the end of it all, and gave her a big hug. I should think so.

*

In this office, all the “meeting rooms” are named after writers, instead of having a more sensible numbering system that might assist with actually finding the damn places. But this does throw up the fantastic spectacle of seeing various earnest young ladies wandering around aimlessly, clutching cardboard cups of coffee and asking “where's Shelley?” or “where's Keats?” or, particularly lovely, “where's Wordsworth?” I sigh to myself, and mumble “where the sun don't shine, love, where the sun don't shine.”

*

I notice there's a job going for a copywriter at QVC. Tempting.