Still no air-conditioning at work. We're not far from insurrection. If only we had the energy to rebel, that is.

We were assured that the maintenance man would be out to deal with the problem. That was half true. He arrived, did the Prince Philip tour of the building, hands clasped behind his back, and then went again without making any difference.

Earlier, I was downstairs in the reception area when someone in high-visibility work gear wandered in.

'Are you the air-conditioning man?' I said.

'No, I've got two thousand litres of liquid nitrogen.'

'Perfect. Back up your truck and unload it in the foyer.'

Now that would have worked.

To add to the problems today, the server went on the blink and my computer kept crashing. It's not until things like that happen that you realise how much of our administration relies on electronic records rather than good old-fashioned paper.

But on the good side, someone gave me a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and someone else gave me half a dozen mince pies. That's a perfectly balanced diet.