Whether it's impending menopause or last week's reality check, my happiness quotient is up and down with the frequency of a schoolboy playing the pink oboe. This is an apposite comparison as I have decided to be more male. Last week I was taken off course by the horrible happenings around me. This week I am going to compartmentalise and refuse all offers to gossip, advise, listen and emote between the hours of ten and six. Unless they comcern opportunities for extortion (good) or impending bankruptcy (bad). My Private Eye ad had two responses. An Irishman in Saudi signed on for the writing course. He completed the first assignment in an abstract way. The Mark Rothko of reportage. It doubled the workload, but he liked my comments: "You set a professional standard. I shall pay immediately." Not a bloody sou so far.... The second was a detective setting up a new website. As a favour, I rewrote the home pages and he immediately incorporated the changes: 'How much to do it all?" I quoted lower than a snake's navel, but... not a bloody word so far:-o It is hard being a businesswoman. My friend the life coach insists all you have to do is believe. But for years I have believed I am slim, rich and beguiling, and... Many moons ago, a Chinese mate joined Buddhist showbiz: the nam yo horengay kyo people. Followers included Tina Turner and Richard Gere (but not Pierce Brosnan). "You can get anything if you chant twice a day for ten minutes," she said. "You just stick up a picture of what you most want and pray. I know people who've had envelopes of twenty pound notes coming through their letterboxes." I cut out a pic of what I wanted most and spent a month on my knees. They swelled up, but nothing much else happened. With hindsight, I suppose anyone trying to push a new Ford Escort XR3i through my letterbox might have encountered problems:-(