Hot hot hot

It's very very very hot in London today- feels like more than 30 degrees- and so everybody's walking round with pink faces. Donna's no exception. She was at a barbecue on Friday, Saturday and Sunday and in between putting away ten tonnes of the cheapest frozen burgers she could find, she managed to bag herself a new man and in great detail has been telling me about the revolting sex she's been having. I'm no prude, but just seeing Donna in short sleeves makes me crave the solace of a psychiatric ward so imagining her naked is not what I need right now- or ever.

So much for these ultra glam offices- the air conditioning is fucked and so I've been dousing myself in Magicool to avoid matching Donna's beetroot red chops. It's at times like this when you wish you didn't have to dress up all the time. The last thing I want to do on hot days is cram my feet into heels but any Receptionista worth her salt knows that the haughty authority you need when you're manning the desk and meeting clients can't be achieved in flat shoes.

One amusing thing about being on the desk today has been watching people walk in expecting the lobby to be air conditioned. The look of horror on their faces as they step into this oven has been priceless. You can almost see them sweat out their spines as they stagger up to the desk.