Head of investment at Brightlings Bank, who spends most of her time trapped in the ladies' room crying over fuckwit boyfriend. Unfortunately he just happens to be my boss, editor in chief Daniel Cleaver, and for various slightly unfair reasons relating to this year's Christmas party I suspect he does not fantasize about me. And especially will not fantasise about a particular person who embodies all these things. Number two: Equally important, will find nice, sensible boyfriend to go out with and not continue to form romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, commitment phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits or perverts.
Resolution number one: Obviously will lose twenty pounds.Or I was about to turn into Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction. and I'd finally die, fat and alone, and be found three weeks later half-eaten by alsatians. I suddenly realised that unless something changed soon I was going to live a life where my major relationship was with a bottle of wine. My mum, a strange creature from the time when gherkins were still the height of sophistication.Every year she tries to fix me up with some bushy-haired, middle-aged bore, and I feared this year would be no exception.
Once again I found myself on my own and going to my mother's annual turkey curry buffet.
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