Uncivil Disobedience Goes Awry; And Why One Should Always Answer One's Phone.

God, I'm glad I don't work for David. (Not that I can quite believe I'm saying that, but he's even more annoying than The Boss.)

He spent most of the weekend trying to trace one of his drivers, who had gone AWOL and wasn't answering his phone.

"He's even worse than you for doing that," he said to me, when we were sitting in the garden discussing whether bosses are more incompetent than staff. (Max and Susie had had the sense not to join in, and were lying soaking up the sun in silence.)

"Thanks," I said. "Though I do have good reasons for hating the phone. And I don't often ignore it on purpose - or not when I'm at work, anyway. Then I'm only screening calls."

"Come on," he said, jumping to his feet, and grabbing his car keys. "You've just given me an idea. We'll go and buy some stuff for brunch. Won't be long, Suze - you and Max stay here and chill."

Never believe anything a successful person tells you, that's all I can say; especially when it involves claiming that they won't be long.

We spent the next two hours driving around in David's great boat of a car - leather seats are very slippery around corners when you're wearing anything containing lycra - apparently searching for the missing Craig.

"Ha," said David, as we finally drove past a cluster of small shops, mainly of the betting and kebab variety. "There's his van."

As he spoke, he screeched to a halt so suddenly, that I nearly flew straight out through the windscreen. Then he got out of the car, raced across to the van and began trying all the doors, without any attempt at subtlety at all.

I was almost expecting him to start wielding a crowbar when all of them turned out to be locked but, instead, he walked round the van and back on to the pavement, and then started peering up and down the street - as if looking for something, or someone. And then he disappeared completely.

He was gone for so long, that I'd just closed my eyes and decided to have a nap, when he opened the passenger door, which I'd been leaning my head against.

"Ow," I said, as my neck jerked sideways. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Come on," said David, pulling me out of the car by my arm. "We'll go and get a coffee to wake you up."

Before I could argue, he dragged me towards what looked like the scruffiest cafe I've ever seen, punching a series of numbers into his phone as we went. Then he held it clasped to his ear, while we entered the cafe and looked for a seat. Or I looked for a seat, anyway. David wasn't exactly helping.

He was standing still, watching a young guy wearing a hat - who was seated with his back to us at a table nearby, looking down at a mobile phone lying next to his cup.

"What are you doing, David?" I said. "Are we having a drink, or not?"

David put his fingers to his lips, then dialled again, and put the phone back to his ear. At the same time, a really irritating ring tone filled the cafe, and Hat Man picked up his phone, as if to turn the damn thing off.

"Answer your phone, Craig," said David, at the top of his voice.

David might be annoying, but I'll give him his due - Craig did as he was told, without even looking round.