Having read the blogs newly created by my Herts Ad colleagues, and feeling a pang of jealousy about how much funnier and biting their entries are in comparison to my own, I've resolved to display a level of wit previously reserved for those after-dinner conversations when you're trying to convince everyone in the room that you're actually a spy.
At the moment Danny Smith from Radio Verulam and his sidekick in the pink polo shirt are desperately trying to set up their complicated broadcasting operation from one of the desks in the Herts Ad office.
It's like watching Cro-Magnon Man discover fire. There is a look of obvious joy in Danny's eyes when some bright lights appear on his "console" and he mutters something about levels.
I'm not sure it was a good idea inviting them into the hallowed sanctuary of Herts Ad Towers.
Of course, the conversations before we go on air have been comedy gold, the sort of priceless material which journalists spout on a daily basis when unfortunately nobody is around with any recording equipment.
We've decided to pretend we're on a television documentary, and every so often one of us will look knowingly at an imaginary camera in the corner of the room and smile. I've decided the chosen location doesn't reflect my best profile, so we've introduced imaginary "deskcams" as well.
I'm also thinking about introducing Shakespearean asides into my everyday conversation. Sort of along the lines of: "Forsooth, m'lady doth not suspect my evil intent..." etc.
Reporter Natalie is showing off by offering to make everyone tea, even though she doesn't drink it and doesn't know how to make it. Nobody is fooled.
We await the moment when the big red switch is pulled and someone says we're on air.
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