As Shazzer said afterwards, it wasn't so much a jellyfish as a Portuguese man-of-war. The fishermen were surrounding it in their boats trying to drag it back to the beach.

Rebecca flounced off to some do or other, so the three of us ended up lurching back to Jude's flat.

"'The Man Who Can't Commit will not want you in his own domain,'" Jude was reading out as Shaz fiddled with the Pride and Prejudice video to try to find the bit where Colin Firth dives into the lake. "'He likes to come to your tolver, like a knight errant with no responsibilities. And then he goes back to his castle. He can take and make whatever phone calls he likes without you knowing about it. He can keep his place - and himself - to himself.'"

"Too right," muttered Shaz. "OK, come on, he's going to dive in."

We all fell silent then, watching Colin Firth emerging from the lake dripping wet, in the see-through ,vhite shirt. Mmm. Mmmm.

"Anyway," I said defensively, "Mark isn't a Man Who Can't Commit - he's already been married."

"Well, then it might mean he thinks you're a "Just For Now Girl"," hiccuped Jude.

"Bastard!" slurred Shazzer. "Blurry bastards. Fwaw, look at that!"

Eventually staggered home, lunged expectantly towards answerphone then stopped in dismay. No red light. Mark hadn't called. Oh God, is 6 a.m. already and have got to get some more sleep.

8.30 a.m. Why hasn't he rung me? Why? Humph. Am assured, receptive, responsive woman of substance. My sense of self depends on myself and not on ... Wait a minute. Maybe phone is not working.

8.32 a.m. Dialling tone seems normal, but will ring from mobile to check. If not working might mean everything is fine.

8.35 a.m. Humph. Phone is working. I mean he definitely said he was going to call last ... Oh goody, telephone!

"Oh hello, m'dear. Didn't wake you up, did I?"

Was my dad. Instantly felt guilty for being horrible, selfish daughter, more interested in own four-week-old relationship than threat to parents" three-decade-long marriage from higher than five foot, non-twin Kenyan gigolos.

"What's happened?"

"It's fine." Dad laughed. "I brought the phone call up with her and - oops-a-daisy - here she comes."

"Honestly, darling!" said Mum, grabbing the phone. "I don't know where Daddy gets these silly ideas from. We were talking about the bedsl"

I smiled to myself. Obviously Dad and I have minds like sewers.

"Anyway," she went on, "it's all going ahead. We're off on the eighth of Feb Kenya! Imagine! The only nigger in the woodpile is . . ."

"Mother!" I exploded.

"What, darling?"

"You can't say "nigger in the woodpile". It's racist."

"We're not going to put anyone in a woodpile, silly! Daddy and I have got central heating."

"If expressions like that are allowed to linger in the vocabulary it poisons attitudes and ..."

"Durrrr! You do miss the wood for the trees sometimes. Ooh did I tell you? Julie Enderbury's preggy again..."

"Listen, I really do have to go, I . . ."

What is it about mothers and the phone which, immediately you say you have to go, makes them think of nineteen completely irrelevant things they have to tell you that minute?

"Yes. It's her third," she said accusingly. "Oh and the other thing is, Una and I have decided we're going to ski the net."

"I think the expression is 'surf' but I've..."

"Ski, surf, snowboard - doesn't matter, darling! Merle and Percival are on it. You know: used to be head of the burns unit at Northampton Infirmary. Anyway, the other thing is, are you and Mark coming home for Easter?"

"Mum, I've got to go now, I'm late for work I said. Finally, after about ten more minutes of irrelevance I managed to get rid of her and sank gratefully back on the pillow. Does make me feel a bit feeble though, if mother is online and I'm not. I was on it but company called GBH sent me 677 identical junkmails by mistake and have not been able to get any sense out of it since.

9st 5, (emergency: lacy pants have begun to leave patterns on self), items of lovely sexy slippy underwear tried on 17, items of giant incontinence-wear-style scary unsightly underwear purchased 1, boyfriends 1 (but entirely dependent on concealing scary new underwear from same).

9 a.m. Coins Cafe. Having coffee. Hurrah! Everything is lovely. He just rang! Apparently he did call me last night but didn't leave a message as he was going to ring back later, but then fell asleep. Slightly suspicious, but he asked me to come to the law thing tomorrow. Also Giles from his office said how nice I'd been on the phone.

9.05 a.m. Bit scary, though, law do is black tie. Asked Mark about what was expected of me and he said, "Oh nothing. Don't worry about it. We'll just sit at a table and eat a meal with some people from work. They're just my friends. They'll love you."

9.11 a.m. "They'll love you'. You see that, already, is tacit admission that am up on trial. So is very important to make a good impression.

9.15 a.m. Right, am going to be positive about this. Am going to be marvellous: elegant, vivacious, beautifully dressed. Oh, though. Do not have long dress. Maybe Jude or Magda will lend me one.

Right:

Pre-Law Society Dinner Countdown Day 1. (today)

Projected food intake:

1. Breakfast: fruit shake, comprising oranges, banana, pears, melons or other fruit in season. (NB prebreakfast cappuccino and chocolate croissant already consumed.)

2. Snack: fruit but not too near lunch as takes one hour to get enzymes down.

3. Lunch: salad with protein.

4. Snack: celery or broccoli. Will go to gym after work.

5. After-gym snack: celery.

6. Dinner: grilled chicken and steamed vegetables.

6 p.m. Just leaving office. Am going late-night underwear shopping tonight with Magda to solve figure problems in short term. Magda is going to lend me jewels and v. elegant long, dark-blue dress which, she says, needs a bit of "help" and apparently all film stars etc, wear controlling undergarments at premieres. Means cannot go to gym but sturdy undergarment much more effective in short term than gym visit.

Also, just in general, have decided against random daily gym visits in favour of whole new programme beginning with fitness assessment tomorrow. Obviously cannot expect body to be significantly transformed in time for dinner, which is precisely point of underwear shopping, but at least will be invigorated. Oh, telephone.

6.15 p.m. Was Shazzer. Quickly told her about pre-law party programme (including unfortunate pizza-for-lunch debacle), but when told her about fitness assessment she seemed to spit down the telephone:

"Don't do it," she warned in a sepulchral whisper. Turns out Shaz previously endured similar assessment with enormous Gladiators-style woman with fierce red hair called "Carborundum" who stood her in front of a mirror in the middle of the gym and bellowed, "The fat on your bottom has slipped down, pushing the fat on your thighs round to the sides in the form of saddlebags."

Hate the idea of the Gladiators-style woman. Always suspect one day Gladiators programme will get out of control, Gladiators will turn flesh-eating and producers will start tossing Christians to Carborundurn and her ilk. Shaz says I should definitely cancel, but my point is if, as Carborundurn suggests, fat is able to behave in this slippage-style way then clearly it ought to be possible to mould and squeeze existing fat into nicer shape - or even different shapes as occasion demands. Cannot help but wonder if was free to arrange own fat according to choice would I still wish to reduce amount? Think would have huge big breasts and hips and tiny waist. But would there be too much fat to dispose of in this way? And where could one put the excess" Would it be bad to have fat feet or ears if the rest of one's body was perfect?