Perfect days aren't planned. They just happen.
Monty woke me with a nuzzle and despite the time of year (October) we went for a walk in the park in shirtsleeves. It looked like a perfect day
I got back to find an email confirming one of those deals that you work on for weeks and you begin to wonder exactly what you're doing. It was a simple two liner. It's on. GR8. Then a telephone call to discuss another project that's on too. This is getting better.
Lunch - outside in the London sunshine - was only marred by the Polish waitress who literally, really, really really, couldn't speak a word of English but since I wasn't paying, the sun was shining and we were in a good mood, our good deed for the day was to teach her some basic menu rudimentaries. Food was great. The sun shone.
It's 'Art Week' in London and overhead Larry Gagosian's helicopter has been trailing a banner declaring that he is Pop Art. People are trying to make an event out of this. Strolling through the park in the warm afternoon sun towards a party I decide to call the Mobile Phone Company's call centre.
I won't bore you with the details but basically this is always a trial, an endurance test to see how long I can stand listening to somebody witter away at the other end, who's supposed to be trying to sell me something (a new contract) after screwing me around all year. An incentive. Something. Anything. Even a modicum of interest would suffice.
I try a different tack and speak first to Customer Services where a bright young man tells me I need to speak to "Loyalty" and before I have a chance to ask what that is I'm speaking to another bright young man in "Loyalty" who listens to me moan on and on. I've got at the back of my head that they should be offering me, oh, £50 off my current bill, when he interrupts me and says. "How does three hundred quid sound?"
"Music", I reply. In two minutes I'm off the phone, £300 richer with a new contract. Done deal.
I go to the party and meet one of the world's greatest architects, Richard Meier, whom I've met before. The show's about his architecture work and also his art, which is beautiful. He's charming and fascinating. Princess Michael of Kent is introduced to me and there's a momentary silence. She has no idea who I am or why she should be speaking to me. We exchange a tiny bit of small talk before she escapes.
All evening gorgeous waitresses keep approaching us to ask if we'd like more free champagne. It's like a dream. Matthew Collings is there, architects, journalists, faces, it's a fab party in a great space and we all go for what turns out to be a fantastic dinner.
I get home late and discover that ITV4 is showing two episodes of Larry Sanders, the world's greatest television show ever in the history of television. So I watch and laugh my socks off at a show that just refuses to show its age.
In the great scheme of things possibly there are more perfect days than this - world peace is declared or the problems of global poverty and hunger resolved - but if every day turned out to be as good as this I'd be pretty darn happy.