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War Goes Bang

You're watching BBC North West. The time is 6:30am. And now, with the news in your area, it's Tina Bangs.

Caught a glimpse of Blunsom across a crowded office. Why won't he talk to me? I have papered over the caked make-up from last night's seedy tryst, sprayed Impulse in the air and walked into its pungent cloud, plucked my beard, yet still not even an acknowledgement. I will bide my time...waiting...waiting...forever, if necessary. Though that would defeat the object of the attempted ensnarement. Unless we could become one, in the eyes of the cosmos, in everlasting unstatutory matrimony, in death.

No sign of Blunsom today. I think he heard about the ouija board and candlelit vigil I held (with the help of Gypsy Francesca Norman). He sounded scared when he phoned in sick. The editor said it was probably the fear of being posted to the gulf. Surely it's unlikely he'd be posted there, as the human interest stories are being well covered by ITV. David said he had heard that the Iraqis were theatening to blow up any dolphins found swimming near the shore, in case they were spies. This sounds like the ideal story for Blunsom to cover. Have been offered the night shifts on News 24, as temporary cover for Susan Osman.

Petronella said it was because Susan had been called up to spend nights on the runway at RAF Fairford, interviewing B52 pilots and describing the paintings on their aircraft. I turned them down. It would mean thowing away the progress I have been making through 192.com. Also, they wanted to briefly change my surname to something less theatening.

Last night was karaoke night at The Broken Drawer. I sang "Mickey" by Toni Basil, but changed the words to "Hey Ralphy". I was booed off, but I lasted longer than the Elvis impersonator who sang The Stereophonics' "Bartender and the thief". Next week, I will sing Rosanna by Toto, but with "Rosanna" being replaced by "Ralphblunsom". David said he would record the performance so I could send it to the gulf. God, I hate this war.

Just as the darkness can often be more revealing than the light, so can absence speak more eruditely than constant presence. So when Blunsom failed to appear at the tea party I organised on Saturday, I quickly came to understand that it was as a result of his simmering obsession with me. Invited were my parents, my uncles, my auntie, my sister, my four brothers, my ex-daughter, my grandmother and Ralph Blunsom. He was the only one who didn't show, apart from my sister. She was knocked down and critically injured as she stepped into the tracks in an attempt to hail a train. As the rest of the Family rushed to her bedside, I waited patiently for the arrival of our guest of honour. Midnight. As the candle light flickered and convulsed before exhuberantly disappearing in a puff of wax-scented gray smoke, I still sat and waited.

Mother phoned from the hospital, saying that Verity had sustained surprisingly minor injuries, considering the damage she had inflicted on the train. Still no sign of him, though. On their return from the hospital, my Family noisily tried to keep quiet, without success. As I awoke from my brief doze, I glanced at the clock on the oven. It told me the time was 5am. "Has he been?" I asked. Father replied, "Verity will be home tomorrow. The train driver's shoe was fused to her neck in the heat of the inferno." I took this as a no. I slept though the rest of Sunday, briefly rising in order to conduct a few basic bodily functions, then going back to bed so I could drift off to the sound of Terry Christian's voice. Usually I loop the CD of Blunsom's humorous "And finally" reports, but following Saturday's no-show, I decided to snub him. This morning, I regretted such thoughtlessness, so sent him an email to apologise. I hope he'll understand. Verity has just arrived. They used a skin graft to improve her shoeneck. This has left her with a size 10 boot mark on her arse. We laughed.

Yesterday was "bring your life-size effigy to work" day, here at BBC North West. There were some impressive efforts, not least from Martin Henfield, who managed to capture the full child-molesting horror of his face using a wire mesh and red clay. Sheila refused to back her tea trolley into the news room until Martin agreed to cover both his effigy and himself with a blanket. We didn't have one in the office, so tea was served in the corridor, while Martin sat alone behind the office iMac. Nigel Jay didn't put much time into his effigy, opting to stick a photocopy of his face onto a stolen Mr Wimpy.

To accentuate the resemblance, he wore a beefeater uniform to work and ordered "pancakes with mapleen syrup" from a bewildered Sheila. "On a china plate!" he shouted after her, as she hastily beat a retreat into the 'Look North-NorWest' office. The best effigy, of course, was Ralph Blunsom's. He didn't personally bring it into work, as he was called to Lancaster to do an emergency report on a battle re-enactment that had gone horribly wrong, leaving thirty men in a field without their trousers. Thoughtfully, Blunsom had, at the last minute, given the constituent parts (and assembly instructions) of his effigy to Suki the work experience girl. By the time we arrived in the office, the splendid part-inflatable, part-papier mache Ralph Blunsom was sat at his desk awaiting our arrival. At lunch time, I dragged Blunsom's swivel-chair round to the end of my desk.

I spent the remainder of the day looking into his eyes, searching for the inspiration to neatly encapsulate the remarkable story of a cockatiel that can swim. It took me hours to get past "Shaggy Cock Story". Last night was my 10:25 news night, so I didn't get to leave the office until 11pm. Everyone had left the news room, taking their effigies with them. But Suki had left Blunsom's behind. In a snap decision, I burst my own effigy and popped Blunsom's under my arm. As I walked out through reception, Roy bade me good night. "Bye", I said. "Is that Ralph Blunsom?" enquired Roy. I had to improvise. "Yes", I blurted, before running up to the automatic doors. My progress was immediately halted, as the doors took time to react. As they slowly opened, I turned round to see Roy waving goodbye. "I need him", I said, before leaving though the open doors and getting into my MX-5. Blunsom sat in the passenger seat, as if he were my husband. I have never been happier.