Hello! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well by now you should be used to my sporadic appearances. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you any less, I’m just having to divide my time economically between other things! 

Christmas is round the corner and so is my birthday so expect more disappearances from yours truly but before that, I will be working every spare minute to finish off my interview with Alan Fletcher (aka Dr Karl Kennedy off Neighbours) who is currently on tour in the UK with his band, The Waiting Room. Oh my aching sides! But seriously, what a charming man. Sadly I won’t be able to throw my knickers at him on stage as my work Christmas party clashes with his London gig. Oh dear Lord, the Christmas party. There’s going to be karaoke – I think that says it all. But yes, party season is upon us although I must confess I went to my first Christmas party about two weeks ago at Sugar Reef in London. It was very nice but I didn’t understand why there was a stair-lift in the club.

Seeing Muse live blew me away and walking around Wembley arena to find the entrance (which is now what used to be the back) left me breathless. Well it was my first time since the arena reopened after its mass refurbishment but still, someone could have pointed out the entrances had changed too and since that night, it’s all been downhill for me – trains have been cancelled every day, thus making me late for work. I tried to defy them by leaving home almost 45 minutes earlier but no, even the earliest train was cancelled. The gits! And then they had the audacity to hand out letters at stations, explaining their reason for slacking: “The disruption was due to significant infrastructure problems caused by a power failure to signalling equipment”. What’s with the big words? Why not just say “we haven’t a clue how to run a reliable train service”? Honesty is the best policy after all. Normally I can’t be arsed with writing letters of complaints but when I have to work through my lunch hour and/or stay behind longer to make up for lost time thanks to fault of others, there is no way I’m going to resist the opportunity to blast the fuckers.

The same goes for the twunts who sold me a new phone, which stopped working after six weeks. I have to wait two bloody weeks for them to repair and return it to me and in the mean time I have to make do with a naff phone with basic functions – it doesn’t even have a colour screen, that’s how aged it is. Life couldn’t be peachier.

So there we have it – a snippet of Miss Shaikh’s hectic life. And I’m a Celebrity is over too. Jason Donovan didn’t say “unreal” once and David Gest didn’t win but all’s well that ends well. Sort of. Thank you to Kate for filling in for me for the last two editorials – splendid job, Miss Picard. And just so you know, Kate finds the drummer of The Fratellis utterly repulsive looking. Give the man a power shower with an industrial sized hose and a bar of soap. I bet he smells of wee.