I’m at my desk when the phone rings. It’s the astronomer, calling to invite me out for a romantic meal. Naturally, I accept, before signing off in the usual way: ‘Bye darling. Love you.’
As soon as I hang up, the phone rings again. This time, it’s my boss. She immediately launches into a bloodthirsty tirade. I remain on autopilot throughout the onslaught, grunting periodically, hopelessly distracted by the prospect of an intimate candlelit dinner.
‘In short,’ the boss concludes, ‘I expect that report on my desk by morning.’
‘Until tomorrow, then.’
‘Yes, until tomorrow. Bye darling. Love you.’