I am feeling rather sorry for myself. As I write this, I’m lying in bed, blocked up and below par. It is not helped by the fact that I recall saying, all too smugly, just a couple of days ago: “I never get ill”. Here arrives comeuppance. On top of that, I’ve had a frustrating week dealing with aggravating people.

The first is a young man entrusted to the care of The Sheik while studying in London. He is spoilt and cushioned by so much money that he has not the vaguest comprehension of his privilege and seems to hold the belief that the world orbits around him. My natural inclination to be helpful towards The Sheik, and those close to him, has lessened somewhat in the past three months as he does not return my phone calls or let me know the future of the mega-house. Is he to keep it and redecorate it or am I to sell? I have given up viewings until I have an answer; nevertheless his failing to return my calls annoys me. Manners cost nothing.