Monday: Spend weekend snuggled up in bed with inflatable fish that was left, along with clean sheets and a red heart, by mystery admirer. "Who sent it?" I keep wondering as my mind wanders away from Strictly Come Dancing. "And do I say anything about it in the office on Monday?" Decide to keep quiet and wait for any of the names on my list of suspects to out themselves.
Total failure. No one gives me the glad eye apart from David, GAG chairman, and that's just out of guilt for almost killing me recently. And then I lose a bucket-shaking competition with Miranda, the new fundraising officer. We are both roped in to collect donations after a lunchtime recital of fish poetry by new GAG pin-up Jan Leeming in a London church.
Shocked by sexism in a poem by Dan Hartnett, likening goldfish to an awful girlfriend. But my right-on concerns are pooh-poohed by Miranda, who promises to show feminism is old hat by collecting more money than me by flirting with old men in the audience.
Instinctive competitive edge mixed with political correctness makes me pose as gigolo with older ladies as they exit. Final score: Miranda £350, Neil £15.
Thursday: It's just when I'm finally off my guard that the phone rings.
It's a voice message read in BT robot tones, asking "do you like the fish?"
I quickly scan the office for any knowing looks, but all eyes are suddenly fixed on reception, where Keira Knightley has just arrived. I'd been pursuing her as a possible GAG patron before the David attack, and had also been told that she had sat at my bedside when my fate hung in the balance.
I mentally sigh with relief at fact that the recent spell of crutch-walking has built up my chest muscles - not that I'm about to take off my shirt.
Yet. Give Keira a conducted tour of the office. Charm her into provisional acceptance of role of patron and can't help mentioning the inflatable goldfish. I must be mad - clearly what she thought too. That's the top name off the list of suspects and probably off GAG's notepaper too.