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Wake up an hour early than normal to raid my apartamento for anything resembling "personal, cool or zeitgeist-like" for Mr. D. The only thing that can possibly pass is my Vincent Gallo (collector’s item) leather bound book, but am not sure I can face giving it away when it comes to putting it in my bag.

Decide my Tracey Emin coffee table book is too "mass-market" to give the right impression and decide against my Comme scented candle as I’ve already used it a couple of times. A tea-set that I can’t remember buying also looks too naff and I don’t know if Mr.D even drinks tea? Apart from a sad freebie of "Absolut Disco" my flat comes resolutely limping in at last place, offering nothing to my rescue.

The only thing left is my CD collection, so in desperation I opt for a CD. I decide its a least "personal" thus fitting one of the categories. Perhaps Mr. D can play it in the car???? Does he have a car or a driver? So many unanswered questions that leave me ridiculously late and I blow twenty euros on a last minute taxi dash to the office. I leave my flat looking as if it has been burgled (and leave note to my cleaner and surrogate mother telling her not to worry, that I am in the midst of a interior decorating project…although not convinced my Italian correctly spells this out).

Yet another day of failing to continue my exercise regime so google Hollywood boot camps whilst having my morning coffee. Is L.A do-able in a weekend?

Several thousand phone-calls later to our Asian and European offices encompassing most of the world’s capital cities (ask me the weather on any given day for the world and I can tell you) plus a fruitless hunt within the building for a Polaroid camera followed by lunch. Try in vain to settle for just mozzarella and salad but the bread basket is too inviting. The restaurant was also out of coca-light which left me caffeine-free and therefore unable to join any in any lunch-time chatter.

Post-lunch, cycled five miles on the in-office exercise bike machine whilst going through my crackberry and answering the emails I should have done before lunch. Find a clever calendar option in amongst my Facebook application and insert Mr. D’s birthday. Due to the polaroid camera going missing I have to work extra late. Get extremely angry and decide to hunt down whomever the culprit is and fwd them my unanswered mails.

Apply make-up, leave the office.

Go home; feed the cat and jog twice (and a bit) round the park.

Another dateless wonder at behindtheseamsgirl@gmail.com

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