It's the moment I come to and realise where I am.
This is probably because I am standing in the bathroom at work with my trousers falling down.
Today is Jonathan's birthday and I haven't sent him a card and the only thing I know he will appreciate is a picture of my baby's arm.
But there's no way I am going to do that because I know it will be passed around the office.
This is an easy compromise...
I text Jonathan because with iPhone version GS update (I don't know the correct words for this) I can now text people pictures.
"Your birthday package is waiting to be unwrapped."
"Oooooh... looks delicious."
Even though Jonathan is standing in front of TV cameras in the middle of a field in Somerset it takes him less than a minute to respond.
This is not surprising from a guy who admits that that he loves nothing more "than a nice big cock up his arse". His words not mine.
I am definitely not the kind of person to put words in peoples' mouths.
This is getting smutty...
I am standing in the middle of Westfield Shopping Centre and in front of me the BBC Symphony Orchestra are playing and the sound is beautiful.
I make a note-to-self to make a list of my favourite eva classical music tracks. This forms part of the weird aspect of me that requires everything in its place.
I am back at the office sorting out a hundred different things and suddenly a whole bunch of people appear looking very stressed but they're also drunk because it's been some important leaving do.
And everyone's talking about Mr Of Pop, first name King. Has he died or something?
Naturally, it doesn't take long...
"Coroner says he was looking very pale", "poisoning after eating 12 year old nuts", "suspicious circumstances, they're blaming it on the boogie" etc.
I think at this point I give up. I am not sure.