Thanks to a generous client, I had a windfall this week – a gloriously thick envelope of vouchers from the yellow-bag haven that is Selfridges.

My attention to his portfolio hadn’t gone unnoticed or perhaps it was the “wily women ways” that I’d shamelessly employed to develop it. There was a ­moment, though, when I feared I might have blown it as I pushed him off after he attempted a garlicky after-lunch e­mbrace in the lift.

My euphoria at the thought of the pending shopping spree was short-lived, however, as I made the mistake of notifying my boss – as per company policy – about the “gift”. Sucking her teeth like Hannibal for chianti, she hissed, “fabulous, let’s shop”, and whipped the vouchers out of my hand.

In a fl

This morning, as I clutched a coffee in one hand and my handbag and laptop in the other, I was almost mown down on my way into the office by a power-walking woman burning down the street in an olive-green Neoprene power vest.

But this was no ordinary power vest – this one was a long-sleeved hoody version, no doubt bought to accommodate the rainy weather of late. Seems the power walker was in such a rush to get to work, she’d thrown the vest on over her shirt, which was billowing around her like a puff of smoke. Or maybe that was a result of the additional carbon dioxide she was adding to the already-polluted atmosphere. There was also a strong smell of burning rubber as she elbowed me out of the way, although I couldn’t be sure if it was the suit or her trainers scalding the Tarmac.

Anyway, it got me to thinking that I