Saturday: “Connecting people” is the slogan of one well-known telecommunications company. But what happens when that connection fails to work? People are left sitting on their sofa wanting to punch something. Isn’t it time the internet worked properly and nobody had to suffer “connection errors” and failure messages. I’m sure the world would be a better place. Maybe I should write to Al Gore. Thunder.

Sunday: I mused recently on the meaning of chocolate bars, whether eating a Twirl meant you cannot handle the power of a KitKat Chunky. What about drinks? The other day I got a white wine spritzer and sat among my beer-swilling chums, trying to blend in. But they spotted I was swigging the alcoholic equivalent of a Twirl and I was roundly mocked. I don’t care – if I want a light refreshing drink, I’ll have one. Dry and sunny.

Next week: Sense has gone out of the window as my esteemed editor heads into London for a function. She is under the misguided impression, led by my foolish colleagues, that she should get the train from Rickmansworth, when any fool knows the Watford Junction train is not only faster, more luxurious and better, but free glasses of wine are served en route. Still, I tried. I can see a big fat I told you so on the way. Hot.