‘The closest I can think of was when a radio station offered me a piece of flapjack.’ I scanned the room, still trying to take it all in. ‘This is terrifying. It’s like an evil genius took an Armstrong Christmas, ramped it up to Max Glam, and then invited some random strangers along. The only thing stopping me from asking you to drive me straight home is that I’m currently top of the leader board. It also doesn’t hurt that Summer is second to last.’

Henry shook his head. ‘How did I end up higher than her?’

He was currently seventh out of nine.

Before we could begin trying to figure that one out, Baxter heaved himself to his feet and called for everyone’s attention.

‘Now, as delightful as this soirée is, you are all here for a reason. That being to impress, hoodwink, or bewitch me into offering you a job. You have until Monday to convince me that you are precisely what BWM Today needs to replace the usual boring banality with five minutes that every viewer will soon consider a highlight of their day.’ Without pausing to take a breath, he then pointed at Cynthia and said, ‘Cynthia Burrows, your five minutes to wow me with tomorrow’s weather starts now.’

Cynthia mouthed the kind of word that wouldn’t make it past the BWM Today censors, before spluttering and stumbling about the forecasted storm. A minute in, Baxter held up a hand to stop her.

‘Cynthia drops to bottom place, please, Melania. Calvin Cotton, where in the UK do you recommend I spend New Year’s Eve, if I want a clear night for fireworks?’

‘Norfolk,’ I couldn’t help muttering under my breath. It was impossible to be sure this far in advance, but that was as good a bet as any.

Calvin waffled a couple of sentences about how he of course couldn’t be sure, but generally speaking this time of year the south and east were likely to have less cloud or precipitation.

‘PATHETIC!’ Baxter boomed, causing one of the men to drop his blini. ‘Eighth place. Lincoln Kim, have you a chance in hell of getting back to Cardiff ahead of Father Christmas?’

To his credit, Lincoln offered a competent, if guarded, prediction of the travel situation for Christmas Eve.

‘Ugh!’ Baxter groaned, rolling his head from side to side. ‘I stopped listening and switched to my weather app three words in. Summer Collins, what the devil should I pack for my Boxing Day trip to Riga?’

Summer placed a hand on one hip, held her champagne flute aloft and looked Baxter Bigwood directly in the eyes. I held my breath, certain that she was as clueless about this as all the other questions.