Sara phoned in great state of excitement, while I was trying to finish piece for Sunday paper - for which deadline had expired two days ago.

"Are you free to talk?" she asked. So explained about missed deadline and fact was trying to meet it in brief 20-minute opportunity (presented by fact children were glued to Tweenie video) but that also always welcomed diversions, as they might prove inspiring and therefore help in goal of meeting deadline.

"Good, then save whatever it is you're working on," she said. "I have some fantastic news."

Thinking one of the documentary proposals, on which Sara was constantly working but which never appeared to reach fruition, had maybe reached fruition, I saved my piece on Rabbi's favourite holiday destinations and gave Sara full attention.

"Remember Tony?" she asked. To which replied I could hardly forget him.

Tony was a man we'd met at a Christmas party and, after I'd had a brief conversation with him, Sara had dispatched me to talk to friend Lucy.

Lucy she said was depressed but actually turned out to be extremely merry, having drunk almost an entire cauldron of punch and decided to flirt outrageously with host of party, who was trying to make more punch so people other than Lucy could have a drink.

Anyway, Sara obviously wanted to flirt outrageously with Tony herself - which is why I'd been dispatched to play gooseberry by the punch bowl.

And, in the absence of both their respective partners, (Sara's husband held up at meeting, Tony's wife in hospital, where she worked as paediatrician - not because she was ill or anything), they progressed through various stages of flirting outrageously with remarkable speed, until host decided he'd had enough of propping up Lucy and would circulate, beginning by placing himself firmly between Sara and Tony and asking what they'd managed to find to talk about.

The gist of the conversation (and bearing in mind the amount they'd both had to drink, it was only a gisty conversation) was along the lines of what a coincidence it was that, while Sara called herself an urban housewife (due to lack of success of late in documentary projects), Tony, as it turned out, was an urban house help.

This occupation, he said, had been forced upon him by the fact his career wife had wanted him to give up work and look after their children.

But now they were at school, she wanted him to get out and earn money - but still be around to pick children up from school etc.

So, he'd become a combined cleaner/odd job man and was in much demand for his French polishing skills and ability to rewire plugs.

"And no doubt for his muscular body and film star good looks," said Sara, when repeating as much as she could remember of their conversation at a later date.

"So what is the good news about Tony?" I asked, having closed my Rabbi file and shut down my computer.

"He's coming round," said Sarah, beaming (obviously I couldn't see her beaming as she was on the other end of the phone but I could sense it down the wires).

"What exactly for?" I asked.

"Well, I'd been thinking of getting a cleaner for some time," she lied.

(Sara is always going on about how she couldn't bear to have anyone in her house for the amount of time it would take to get to grips with the amount of dirt in it).

"And he said he might be able to fix the shower while he's at it ... "