ONE MORE SLIP

I slept an uncomfortable five hours today. The hot wind gusting in under my brown, faux-leather blinds disoriented me; and the nervous tension that had been with me from the previous night's shift ate into my heart. I turned off my alarm, preparing to rise, only to nod off once more, awake, switch the alarm back on, and then sink into a renewed unhappy slumber.

What I'd been dreading most of all - aside from an England defeat - was the e-mail waiting for me in my inbox, from my boss.

By the time I read it, I was already at work and England were 1-0 up. It was short, devoid of emotion and sympathy, but it's message was clear: one more slip, and I'm sausage-meat.

By this time I had in fact steeled myself for the worst. I'm pretty sure I'm going to quit. I know I can't stay in my department - whatever my boss says I really can't see how I'll ever regain his confidence again.

And if I leave? So what! Thank G-d I've got a small mortgage, I've got a brain, my health, contacts and - when appropriate - I've got more passion than a horny Patagonian beaver. I just need to regain control of my own destiny and maybe be my own boss.