What do you do when you’re on a course and someone, on that very same course, is the most irritating person you’ve ever encountered? A real opinionated schmuck.

There is no escape. Two whole floors between myself, safety and silence. The windows don’t open enough to get out. I’ve checked.

I am such a talent that I often astound myself. I am also incredibly humble.

It’s not an easy task - managing this incredible gift and remaining grounded - but my clients do a stellar job of it. High five.

I miss me so much.

Men have mistresses and women? Well women are the mistresses.

There is, if you can believe it, no universally accepted term or word used to describe a male mistress. Sure there are toyboys but that implies that they’re younger than you and, let’s face it, that is not always the case. Younger is not always better. Tighter, yes, but better … no.

Shocking, isn’t it?

Not shocking because I am like a four-year-old, who needs to add a name tag to everything, but shocking because it implies – through omission - that a woman could not possibly have a male mistress.  That she will, regardless of the situation, always be the mistress.

The double standards are astounding and more than that they are irritatingly inaccurate.

But being the control-freak that I am I have developed a very workable solution. From this day forth all male mistresses that I come into contact with shall be named mattresses. It’s bound to catch on and, because it’s not nearly as obvious as talking about a mistress, you will find yourself mentioning it everywhere.

So married-women-who-decide-to-stray it is finally time to rejoice. Your male mistress, the mattress, can now be afforded the same nicknaming-and-shaming rituals ordinarily reserved for his female counterparts.

Life is a funny thing. Just when I think I have it all figured out it turns around and bites me in the bum. Not that being bitten in the bum is a bad thing. It does, however, make sitting a little uncomfortable.

If it needs pushing up a hill I’m your girl. Looks like I’m destined for the life of a business masochist. Not nearly as pleasurable as it sounds.

“Sqwuaking” … obviously something a duck crossed with parrot does. I don’t have a durrot. I think “squawking” is probably the spelling you were searching for. So close though.

Bold choice in choosing to use a koki to pen your complaint and - might I add - the lack of any letterhead, date and signature was a classy touch. It really lent itself to the authenticity of the document. Especially considering how you obviously decided, in a moment of what you’ll later discover was not brilliance, to sign it body corporate.

No need to thank me. Your excellent penmanship and flawless spelling and are thanks enough.

My brain is pouncing on me at completely inappropriate times. The end result of said innappropriate pouncing is one-times rubbish week.

Goal for upcoming week:

Must find brain’s off switch.

Method of achieving said goal:

Spend entire week in pyjamas eating Cocopops and watching soapie reruns. A total emotional lobotomy.

I am a ridiculous taskmaster, especially when it comes to my own work. This probably means I would have made an excellent dominatrix.

If only I’d know sooner. Sigh.

One of these days I may post a post that is longer than a sentence or two. Fingers crossed.