It is ridiculous that I have been hired as the Personal Assistant. He is having to remind me to remind him to go the meetings. Asking me to organise your working day is about as logical as asking Elizabeth Taylor how to fix your crappy marriage. I have newfound respect for the cool efficiency of secretaries and PAs. Meanwhile, I've stabbed myself three times with the stapler, written on the whiteboard with permanent marker, and cannot grasp the concept of folding letters so the address shows up in the window envelope. How can I organise someone else when I can't even organise myself? Where's my bloody PA? It would be nice to have the little secretary there every morning, handing me some toast and a glass of orange juice. Time to get out of bed, ma'am. Here are your messages. Here are your pants. You have three minutes to get to the bus stop.