I have arrived home from a leadership programme, run for 5,000 staff in the company for which I work.

I was horrified to hear the statement ‘some people like to be treated like cogs’.

What? Who are ‘some people’? Do you like to be treated as a cog? Then what the fuck makes you think someone else might want to be treated like a cog?

I was astounded to hear men and women in their middle life saying earnestly ‘we need to communicate more and inform team members about what’s going on. We need to listen to their feedback because it’s important’.

What? How the fuck did you get to that age and get your jobs when such management gems seem to be of Koh I Noor proportions?

My hot tip for leadership, and hey, I’m no Jack Welch, is treat other people the way you like to be treated yourself, then let’s see how we all get on.

Thankfully, there was much, much good stuff, more of which some other time.

And then have sausages, poached eggs and mushrooms, before tea in front of The Three Musketeers (Raquel Welch in a comedy role). Folllowed by a shady whisky at The Palm Tree. Then a chance encounter, Hoxditch ducks, a Swiss Sunday Sit-down plan, Guinness and red wine in The Approach, a chest-tightening glow.

Ow you likin' that then, kids?

And it's only half-past six.

Mutter grumble, clocks have gone back, it'll be dark at four o'clock, we'll have to go to work in the dark, come home in the dark.

Next year celebrate the onset of winter with us: half a bottle of chilled champagne, smoked trout on hot toast in bed, and a tube of bubbles to blow through bright, slanted sunlight.

Happy Winter!

Oh no, it was me. I was the hateful person on the tube this morning. My humble apologies to the woman whose hair I kept mussing up while I was trying to reach the top handrail. Don't read into it: my arm magnetically attracted to your hair doesn't mean you're about to have a bad day. Hope your stars were good. Hope you had perfect coffee when you got to work.

Joseph Bagarozza, 35
Pio Canini, 52
Vincent Ferrante, 26
John P. Healy, 44
Darios M. Marshall, 25
Guillermo Pagvay, 44
Louis Robinson, 50
Frank Sullivan, 46
John Valinski, 40

I have had three disconnected lines from The Beatles' I'll follow the sun going round in my head since about 12.37am on Wednesday.

Is this a record for the longest ohrwurm of all time?

Jane Eyre, champagne, discerning eyes, sparkly eyes, critical eyes, sage nodding, purple tights, rich wives, a model in red, ironic wool throws, two-tone hair.

Where was I?

Looks like He sold out in the end. Like everyone. Yeah, jus' typical. Bet house prices have gone up too.

as it was in heaven and that are in earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers: all things were created by Him and for him and He is the one who IS THE one who IS THE Master of the Nets Garden, in Suzhou The Garden of the gods Colorado SPRINGS Hotel Information. and Reservations. HYATT

Try for yourself.

Suck and blow the balls.

When we went to sleep at around 3am, we promised to be up at 9am, then back from our big countryside trip to Epping Forest by 1pm. At 9.03am, I said it was 9.03am. At 10.30am we had coffee, at 1.30pm we left the flat. Denied of our forest stalk by engineering works, we a) decided not to struggle there and b) changed our plans. Four glasses of wine, one pub, one bar, 26 seagulls, one David Blaine, a Wetherspoon toilet and much daftness later, Epping Forest can sit on that.

Bloggers' Boobiethon.

Someone threw themselves under a tube train at Oxford Circus this evening.

I was en route to a hairdresser's appointment. I missed the appointment (bad), but walked from Marble Arch to Holborn under an armageddon autumnal sky (good).

Looking back I had a reasonable day, starting at 8.03 (bad) when I woke (good) after forgetting to set my alarm (bad). I met nice new people who I'll be working with for a while (good), found out I was going on a world-renowned management course (good) that starts just before my birthday (bad). I had a vat of skinny capuccino with caramel (good).

£50.20 was credited to my bank account (good), I got pissed off having to rush work and not achieving what I think I'm capable of (bad). I got invited to go for a drink (good), but passed it up for hairdressing reasons (bad, twice).

After my walk this evening, I turned left into my street fully intending to do yoga or go for a swim (good), but minutes later found myself parting with £11.29 for a copy of Private Eye, a bar of organic chocolate, a bag of hand-cooked crisps and a bottle of Vouvray (bad and good, something like Schroedinger's cat).

Did 100 sit-ups (good) to cancel out the listed purchases. R is coming over later and we'll cook together (good).

Now I'm just doing this while pondering on who it was who did what they did and just how (bad) their day must have been.

Words baked the way they ought to be:

:: binoculators
:: Argentinia
:: cordroids
:: fish chop
:: trampompoline
:: paronamic
:: donimo
:: ambleance (to take you to hostipal)

Ooh. Ow. Feeling arthritic after yesterday's yoga with Anton. It occurred to me in the night that not only did he teach on a hard floor without using a mat, he was also wearing all white. Nothing a shake of Persil can't fix I bet.

Anyway, the purpose of this post wasn't to write about Anton's dusty knees, nor about my prematurely aged joints, it was to write that I did yoga. Smug. I also have had one beer since last Sunday, huzzah.

Did my halo glint in the sunshine then?

So, err, where do you live?

Fulham.

Oh, that's nice. I lived there for a while, full of flicky-haired women tossing their manes.

What about you? Where do you live?

Oh, east London. Yeah, never thought I'd live east, but well, whaddya know. So, err, what do you do?

Move straight to nitty gritty, bypass pleasantries.

Just read 181 cvs in application for a job in my team. Who would you choose:

"Able to mix vinyl."

"I am very contentious and enjoy my work."

"In the two weeks that I spent with the xxxx, I became aware of new skills and how the whole team works to compliment each other. I had already come across this type of team work at univeristy, and was therefore glad that I was not totally in the dark."

"I believe there's no point in holding one's head in one's hands and moaning about the work load… will the BBC give me a chance to at least nurture a dream into reality or be mired in its own cesspool of 'sorry but it's policy'???"

"I know I have a degree in english, however I would like to be honest and tell you that my spelling in not 100% however I am computer literate and will promise to use the spell check."

"All was quite predictable, until the age of 17, when I rebelled against the norm; there was a small youth rebellion at the time aginst the Tories, and for a while I joined the motorway protestors and anti-capitalists."

Pissed off, hacked off, had enough.

No, make that peeved for a non-specific reason, with a head full of sand and limbs that won't do what I want them to do today.