Questions of Identity, and Other Thorny Issues.

God, people really aren't careful enough about protecting their identities. Today I get a visit from Mrs Cowan, who is completely distraught, the poor woman. She has no access to money, can't pay her mortgage, and her bank are doing nothing to help. Her husband has been a victim of identity fraud but, instead of closing down their joint account and letting the couple start afresh, Mrs Cowan says that the bank are simply refusing to help at all, and are only interested in making charges for the unauthorised borrowing. This really fires me up - especially having spent the last three days being lectured about capitalism. Bloody banks. I am ready to fight to the death over this case.

Mrs Cowan signs the Data Protection forms, and authorises me to apply for a credit report on her behalf. She takes another set of forms home for her husband to sign, so that I can then obtain a copy of his credit report too. In the meantime, I write a terse note to the bank, advising them that The Boss has been asked to take up the case, and that he would appreciate a full explanation as to why it is that nothing appears to be being done to help Mr & Mrs Cowan. I enclose a copy of Mrs C's Data Protection form, and say that I will fax Mr C's through, as soon as he has signed and returned it to me.

I phone Mum, Connie and Josh, and lecture them all on the necessity to shred all their old letters and bank statements. I don't think they'll take any notice, but I for one am going to spend tonight shredding everything in sight. I also delete all Johnny's emails, except for today's.

I am still agitated about his suggestion that we spend a night together at the Marriott County Hall. How could I have forgotten how hideous last weekend was? After the bill for that, I can't afford to stay in a bloody Premier Inn, let alone in a five star hotel at over £300 a night. And even if I could, how would I explain the entry on the bank statement to Max? Maybe only having a joint account wasn't such a good idea - though I've always thought that a commitment to that degree of trust is a necessary part of marriage.

All our divorced friends insisted on keeping their own bank accounts throughout their marriages - as an insurance policy, I suppose. I've always taken the view that the opposite is the case, i.e. that a joint bank account is the most effective way to insure your marriage. Now I suppose I am actually proving my point, much to my frustration. Being right all the time isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I email Johnny, and say that I'd love to meet up with him, but that I just can't get away with it, as there is no way to hide the bill from Max. I can only assume that Johnny will have no such difficulty with his spouse - even if he hasn't killed her off, though I don't say this to him. Having a job as an International Director of a Global Oil Company, and being required to travel all the time, seems to offer the chance to shag your way round the world on expenses, as far as I can see. Though Johnny has never cheated on his wife before. Or so he says.

He emails me straight back and says,

"For God's sake, woman - it's my treat! Yes or no?"

Christ. This is even worse. Does he intend to book one room, or two? And even if he books two, what if he's repulsive in the flesh? (I know there must have been something about him which persuaded me to to get up to what we did behind the Science block, but I'd probably had one too many Babychams at the time.) If he's paying all that money for my room, all because he wants to get me into bed, how easy is it going to be to say, "Thanks, but no thanks," if I can't go through with it?

The answer is obvious. It's going to be impossible, and I shall end up effectively acting like a prostitute. Only worse, because I will be cheating on my husband, and encouraging Johnny to cheat on his wife as well. God knows what Dinah would say. She's quite rude enough on the subject of Thai brides. I need to go home and have a quiet lie-down on the sofa. Sod the shredding.