It Might Not Be You

Re which celebrity Madame B is, I would like to think it is that bird that Ashley Cole cheated on, and that by reading hhn over the past two years she has come to be a wiser, better, stronger person thanks to my observations on life.

Sadly however, moving back from my fantasy of hot women reading hhn, I imagine Madame B to be rather C - D? E? F? G? - list. Probably one of those nutty old birds who do that show about how dirty your house is, or a weather girl who lost her job to someone prettier and younger and without any real qualifications, or just someone whose 15 minutes/seconds of fame came in the shape of being selected to take part in a competition/challenge on the last series of that Ant and Dec Saturday show.

Actually, I happen to know that Madame B is none of the above, shunning the lime light for the more important things in life, like reading hhn and tending to her partner's needs when he has had a hard day's gardening for the local council. She works in PR or something for a bank or a law firm. mrs househusbandnot has further theories about where she works? Or was it The Waunch? Something about a landmark she mentioned once that she could see from her office.

There is much - too much - speculation about the identity of Madame B. No, I really don't know her. No it is not me. No it not mrs househusbandnot. (I quizzed her about it one morning when she was still half asleep, always a good time to get a straight answer from mrs hhn.) Occasionally, I do worry that I do know her - Madame B not mrs hhn [I will hopefully spend the rest of my life trying to get to know mrs hhn]- and get a bit freaked that she knows me. (And remember dear people that I did - very very early on in hhn times - send Madame B a photo of me and mrs hhn. Dumb I know. But we were young and foolish and blogger naive.) But then I think, hey she reads my blog. She must be getting something right.

In other unrelated news, we won a pound on the lottery last night. mrs hhn has set up an on-line account whereby you get an email telling you when you have won something. The notification email reads something along the lines of `We have exciting news for you at the Lottery website'. So while mrs hhn was logging on in the sitting room, I was in the kitchen going to myself `Don't get excited. Don't get excited. It is only going to be a tenner, or maybe twenty. Could be £200, no £200,000...don't don't don't. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck we've won five million. Don't get excited. It is only going to be £200,000. Who should we tell? We'll tell everyone we've only won £100,000 and give them each a thousand. Don't get excited. Don't get excited. What is taking mrs hhn so long to log on. Maybe she has fainted because we've won a few million. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Could it be. If we win £50, we should put it back on the lottery, and then we are BOUND to win a few million. It's just a numbers game. How could you not win if you bought 50 tickets? Don't get excited. Don't..........a quid? A quid? (a quid). Incidentally, a sincere apology to my mate The Duchess who told me the other day about how she reacted in exactly the same way when she got her lottery email. At the time, I was like `God, why would you get so excited Duchess? Chill out dude. It was only ever going to be a tenner.' Which it was. And could not have gone to a better person.

Deeply busy this week, trying to get someone with an oxygen tank to give a talk in a v high security premises in central London, travelling to Birmingham for the day, attending a conference back here in London, and then starting a new project for a new client at the end of the week. All this, and I've started running too. Decided both gym and swimming were not making me any trimmer. To date have done two runs on the running machine...well, I say runs. More like slow glides with the tumble weed flashing past me as a trudge my weary way along the conveyor belt to thinnerness.

Peace to all who do the lottery.