I shouldn't have gone to Fifth Avenue. Late night tonight. I seem to be lurching from one work crisis to another. This is not good. Mark will be up late tonight as well, so at least I'll have company.   Chris, of course, has no work to do. Sarah came over, so he had a night in with her and Mark and I worked like bastards. He really is close to being damaged.   There are now two black marks on the walls of the flat. Evidently the sole of my boot is softer than I thought. I must control my temper or I'll have redecorated the flat in shades of black before the end of the year.   The flu that I thought I'd got rid of has come back. Perhaps this is why I've been feeling dreadful and wanting to sleep all the time.
			The characters and situations in this diary are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happenings. Any resemblance to such things is coincidental, or just for humourous effect. All names have been chosen to implicate the innocent.