Since leaving the corporate environment, my responsibilities have consisted of the following:

Make LTLP’s packed lunch in the morning;
Have dinner ready for LTLP’s return;
Between these events, try not to burn down house, crash car, run up huge gambling/prostitution debts on joint account, etc.

Clearly, there is my own business to mind. But I have no people to worry about, either under or over me. And that’s what caused the most stress. I am happy. Serene, even. NO MAJOR RESPONSIBILITY.

This Utopia was rudely carpet bombed at the weekend, when Mrs Short Tony stuck her head round the door.

“We’re going away for a few days,” she said. “Would you look after our rabbits?”

I couldn’t say no. We had a short conversation about rabbit-keeping. It seemed straightforward.

Just before she left, she added as an afterthought:

“Oh – and don’t worry if the big floppy one dies.”

I was impressed. I know she trained as a scientist, but I had no idea that she had developed a way of bringing rabbits back to life.

“If it dies,” I enquired, “can I chuck it into our cesspit?”

She looked cross at this, and unconvinced by my explanation that Auntie Miriam told me to always chuck a dead rabbit into a cesspit, to get the bacteria going. The New Zealanders are way ahead of us in effluent management technology.

If it dies, apparently we have to bury it in the garden with a little cross, so that the kids won’t get upset. Then dig it up when they aren’t looking and sling it in the wheelie bin to avoid a repetition of the last time, when their thick dog cheerfully exhumed and returned it.

(When I say ‘the last time’, I am pretty sure that it was a different rabbit, despite Mrs S.T's claims to have discovered lapin re-animation).

I am determined to make my new job work. I have all the plans worked out RE food/water etc., and I won’t let her down.

It is the first time I have worked for anybody for a year. Granted, it’s not President of Iraq, but I am already feeling the pressure.