Saturday: She hasn’t called. I think it’s fair to say it’s off, over before it even had a chance to begin. It’s the last time I agree to go on a blind date. In fact, I think this could register as the worst outcome to a blind date, I’ve been ditched before it even started. At least there were no awkward silences, no terrible, agonising conversations as we desperately searched for something in common. Yes, it’s better this way. Cloudy.

Sunday: I accidentally interviewed a Baroness this week. I called the office of Baroness Boothroyd, expecting to speak to an assistant, only to find she answers her own phones. A hot flush of panic washed over me as I realised I wasn’t prepared, they usually have someone to screen the calls in Parliament. Let’s be honest, I could have been completely out of my tree, and I’m not sure Baronesses should be dealing with that. Wet.

Next week: The official announcement is on the way, but here’s a little preview. Our reporters – and your humble weatherman – have been evicted from the office and are hitting the road. No more desk work – we will be there on the streets, facing disasters in the face. I road-tested this myself last week but ended up resting on a pile of chocolate bars trying to make notes before falling on the floor. Improvement needed. Windy.