MONDAY: Arrive at desk to find manila envelope. Redundancy letter.
The official reason is that medium-sized charities such as Goldfish Action Group are struggling in an economic climate that favours whales and tiddlers at expense of dull North Sea breeds like GAG.
"Trustees have decided" to axe separate marketing department after "disappointing results" and merge it with fundraising.
Clare, head of fundraising, looking very smug in today's variation on a theme of orange - a bikini top and ra-ra skirt with clippy-cloppy shoes to match. Tries not to say "I told you so", but it's written all over her face. Evidently, my soon-to-arrive marketing assistant, Francis, will now join her department. Stomp out of office onto Lambeth Bridge, next door to GAG's Thames-side subterranean offices, to contemplate the future.
Convinced that chairman David is behind sacking, which suggests he is worried about my presence around Anka - Mrs David, ex-lover and new mother of my child, Golda. Is she about to bring baby home to me? Call her mobile.
David answers. Tells me to leave Anka alone. Proof positive.
TUESDAY: Up early to instruct lawyer to sue GAG for unfair dismissal.
Compensation nest egg will launch new life with Anka and soon-to-be-renamed Golda. Lawyer advises serving out notice to gather supportive witness statements. Diana, head of finance, Pauline Prescott lookalike and, for reasons that now escape me, sharing my home and bed, busy drafting supportive witness statement showing GAG's finances are no better or worse than previously.
WEDNESDAY: Call out of blue from Roger Fenton-Green, Tory MP and GAG trustee, who has just heard of sacking - all David's doing, he confirms.
Offers me job as head of his private office now he is junior spokesman on fisheries for David Cameron. "We're a party going places," he says six times in five-minute conversation. Accept without asking how much.
Start in a month. Time enough to sort out loose ends.