She picked up a cutting on the children of war-torn Congo: a picture of a little boy covered in weeping sores, a grave-faced girl a little older standing behind him holding a machete, stared out at us.

‘Poor little mite.’ Sally looked appalled, her jolly face falling.

‘It’s leprosy. It’s just – it’s something I discussed with Charlie once. You haven’t seen my Filofax, have you, Sal? I can’t think where I’ve put it. God, everything keeps disappearing at the moment.’

‘No, sorry. Speak of the devil – mein Führer is back.’

Charlie strolled across the office with Double-decker’s MD, Philip Lyons, and that dreadful snooty researcher Daisy whom I’d met when I was on the trauma show.

‘Poor little sods.’ Sally sifted through my pile of cuttings. ‘Can’t see Renee agreeing to any of this, though.’ She unearthed one that screamed ‘BABY MARKET’, an investigation into foreign adoption in Britain. ‘Far too worthy.’

‘It’s nothing to do with bloody Renee. God, Sal, we all know if she had her way she’d spend the entire season doing DNA tests and breaking some poor bugger’s heart every day. Let’s just get on with your list, shall we?’

But I was distracted by Charlie’s arrival. I’d spent the morning planning how best to deliver my ultimatum to him, so I was relieved to see that both men looked – unsurprisingly – well-oiled. The time was probably as ripe as any. My stomach rolled nervously as the smug pair stopped outside Charlie’s office, Lyons’s bald head gleaming under the lights, his frill of hair setting off the shine beautifully. They shared a joke with Donna, who was by now flashing her most wicked smile, thrusting her pert chest out just a little further than necessary, giving Daisy a run for her money.

‘What’s that girl doing here?’

‘Daisy? Lyons is placing her in the LA office. Can’t think why, can you?’ Sally raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘She’s almost as bad as Joseph.’

I flicked through her list. ‘Blimey, not this bloody footballer again. Honestly, Sal, does he really not have anything better to do than appear on our crappy show?’

‘Apparently not. It is about ageing lotharios, though. So what shall we do about him?’

‘The footballer?’

She laughed. ‘No, silly. Joseph.’

I stared disconsolately out of the window. ‘I don’t understand why Charlie keeps Joseph on. It’s just prolonging everybody’s agony.’ I sighed hard. ‘I suppose I’d better talk to Charlie again about him.’ I passed back the guest-list. ‘And listen, don’t book this guy again for at least a month or two, okay? It’s lazy. He’s just too – obvious. I don’t want anyone else from Man U either. Try to get Calum Best instead.’

Sally looked excited, her splendid bosom almost heaving with anticipation. ‘You don’t think – Joseph and Charlie –’