It’s 5:35 on Saturday evening and I’m in the office. What with one thing and another – meetings, meetings, moving house (goodbye, Crouch End, it’s been real…), meetings, meetings… meetings – I’d actually started to forget what the place looked like. Thank God for the webcam. Which seems to be broken today.

I won’t be here for much longer though because tonight, like everyone else in London, I’m off to a Halloween party. But unlike everyone else I won’t be dressing up.

I’ve just spoken to my friend Richard who is dressing up as a vampire. My friend Emily (whose party it is) is dressing up as some kind of sexy slut, as is her wont, while my friend Mary is going to a different party (where the fancy-dress-code is ‘dead people’) as Sharon Tate – which is a stroke of genius. Not least because a) technically, she’s going as two dead people and b) if she herself is brutally murdered on the way to the party, she will technically be three dead people, one inside the other, like some kind of macabre Russian dolls. Having said that, I like Mary so I hope she isn’t brutally murdered.

And yet, despite my friends’ creativity, I’m going dressed up as ‘Paul in a not-very-well-ironed shirt’.…

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