There are a few shameful but colourful moments in my professional career that I would rather forget. Years ago, I dressed up as a client's mascot (big foamy suit that hid my distinguishing features entirely, you know the sort of thing) and paraded around the grounds at their "family fun" day. Fewer years ago, I dressed as Miss Santa and distributed presents to a slavering crowd at a Christmas party (why, why, why...).

But yesterday must surely join these highlights as perhaps the bizarrest of all clash of my work and my personal life as I had the (very dubious) pleasure of writing and 'directing' a short film featuring a collection of my colleagues for a particular client project. Intended to be a piece of entertainment, I should add. It's all shrouded in secrecy for now but I shall unburden myself of my secrets when it doesn't matter anymore. But ulp. It was weird. And we shall leave it at that.

My dream life continues to deteriorate steadily. In retaliation or relief, I'm not sure which. Last night, I dreamt that I rediscovered in the kitchen at work my favourite mug. I dubbed it 'the precious' as a kind of feeble ongoing joke whenever it used to live amongst us which must be going back about 3 years now. But it went missing. Understandable as its delicate egg-shell blue porcelain interior was very striking and I can see why others would covet it. I had not realised however, that I still so deeply felt its loss.