I feel better after a shower and some toast and tea and I get into the office by eleven.

She grabs me before I even get to my desk.

‘You need to come into my office right now, Robert.’

I say that I’m really sorry I’m late, that Jonathan is in a coma and I’m worried to death about him, but she interrupts.

‘It’s not about that.’

Derek the big boss is sitting at Anna’s desk and it’s quite clear they’ve been talking about me. He’s got a load of A4 printouts in front of him and I recognise them as pages from my blog. My stomach tightens and I really need to shit.

‘Robert.’

‘Hi Derek.’

‘Sit down.’

I sit. Anna sits. We all sit, and nobody says anything.

‘Robert, do you recognise this?’ Derek holds up some paper.

‘Yes. It’s my blog.’

‘Right. Your … blog.’

‘My private blog.’

He reads out a passage that has been highlighted in yellow, something about going to a club and taking crystal meth.

‘Did you write that?’

‘Yes.’

There’s another long pause.

‘Robert, do you realise how this reflects on the company?’

‘No. I mean, why should it? It’s … it’s like a work of fiction. All the names are changed. I’m really careful.’

‘Are you using these drugs?’

‘People I know are using them.’ People not exactly a million miles from where I’m sitting, Anna, I want to say.

‘Are you aware of the morals clause in your contract?’

I’m not. ‘Yes. Of course I am.’

‘I understand that there have been some timekeeping issues. This morning, for instance.’

I’m about to explain that my best friend is hovering between life and death in a hospital bed, when Derek continues, And other performance issues.’

My face is burning.

‘I don’t see what my blog has got to do with all this.’

‘Robert, I’ve been speaking to HR. They take a very hard line on this sort of thing.’

I want to say ‘What sort of thing?’ because I can’t imagine that many other employees have written indiscreet online diaries about their sex and drugs shame.

‘But I’ve persuaded them to give you another chance. Robert, you are now receiving an official warning. It’ll be typed up and on your desk by the end of the day.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means,’ says Anna, ‘that if you don’t clean your act up, you’ll be sacked.’

‘Thank you for making that so clear.’

‘Robert,’ says Anna, at last sounding like a friend rather than a manager, ‘we don’t want to lose you. Don’t fuck this up. Seriously. Do not fuck this up.’

Derek’s eyebrows are halfway up his forehead.

‘Okay, Anna,’ I say. ‘Can I go now?’

I could walk out of the office and never go back. It would be very easy. Instead I log on to my blog, and delete the whole account. Woof. Just like that. Anything I write from now on is for my eyes only. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, I’m dead.