I am in work today and don't have my work shoes on. I realised that this would be the case as I stood in the shower at My Canadian Girlfriend's House. (I even stay over on school nights now because we're grown ups) After trying to make sense of my dream about us having dinner with JonnyB and Abby "The Girl" Lee at my parent's house, and why they were interested in getting slabs of chocolate with their faces on them, I suddenly had a mountain top moment when I dropped the soap.

There are many ways out of this. I can phone in sick - which I didn't even do when I was sick. I could drive home, pick the shoes up and get to work for a bit late but then I'd miss the water-cooler discussion about last night's edition of "Can Geri Halliwell save the NHS?". And then there's the lie. I can go in wearing my workout trainers, which are in the back of the car, and concoct some story about why I had to put these shoes on. But I'll need something believable....

• I sold my work shoes, along with a liver and my soul for an iPhone.


• They got soaked in Hurricane Margaret that is battering Manchester


• My shoes are off being re-laced because I have trouble doing that funny lacing they do in shops where you only use one end of the lace


• I dropped the remains of my dead hamster on it, which sit in an urn on the mantlepiece


• I clicked my heels together and, in an attempt to save on air fare and reduce pollution, only the shoes were transported to Kansas


• My shoes are working from home and have a dentist's appointment.


• I hurt my foot playing fooball - seems plausible. Especially as I actually did play football last night.

But of course telling the lie is just the first part of the deception. A good liar can take the lie and subtly interweave it with every part of their life and can tell the same concocted story to everybody who asks. So far, I have walked a lot slower and with a limp since I got in, although it's hard remembering which foot to favour and if you favour your right does that mean that it's that one that is injured. I have to remember then not to shake that leg uncontrollably under the desk while I'm thinking as that would cause me pain. I can't kick the office gimp today - however tempting it may be.

I was even asked, "And is that why you drove in?"
And the obvious reply I gave was, "Hmmmm, Yes sure why not - that sounds plausible."

But with this slovenly affair goes my shot at employee of the month. Now Jessica Simpson won't want to sleep with me.

Personally I can't wait till 5pm when I walk off into the sunset, stop limping, uncurl the kinks in my leg, flex my hand and get picked up by Pete Postlethwaite's Kobayashi.

I am Keyser Soze!