I know, I know, I'm clearly not snuggled up in the arms of my beloved this Valentine's Day night. Truth is, SO had a really crap day. Started with an early phone call from a client asking how come rumours about the sale of client's company, with SO's name attached, were doing the rounds. Seems SO had what turns out to be an extremely ill-judged conversation over a pub lunch with ex-colleagues, who took what SO said, spun it around a bit, and called a trade paper. Ugh. Especially as SO had signed a confidentiality agreement. I suggested a visit to a lawyer, and wondered how much our house would sell for.
Poor SO returned slightly heartened (better than shaky and heaving, I can tell you) and with just enough oomph to pour me a vodka and tonic (delicious!), open a very decent Pomerol and cook me the promised steak au poivre, which we savoured over L4yer Cake, neither of us having the heart for original conversation. I offered to wash up so SO could go straight to bed - poor thing is exhausted.
The trade paper is published on Friday.