You know you're having a bad day when you dress up in a leopard outfit, complete with ears and tail, and you're still not the most convincing cat in the picture...


Let's face it though, their baby might have more realistic fur, but ours can roar louder.

Anyhoo, when my colleague (he's the one on the left) gave me directions to his flat earlier in the week, he uttered the immortal words "You can't miss it". That was the moment I knew we'd never find the place. But the good thing about standing outside the wrong flat, ringing the wrong doorbell for five minutes and getting no response, is that you start to think there's a very real chance that Jeremy Beadle's back from the dead. Which is enough to lift anyone's spirits.

As it transpired, I'd got the right number flat in the right number building. I just happened to be in the wrong road. Fortunately my friends had the good sense to be looking out for someone wandering aimlessly in the wrong direction, and using an advanced navigation system which basically involved shouting, they managed to direct me to their flat.

And I'm glad they did, because it was actually very nice. They'd kitted out the place in leopard print, twinkly lights and brightly coloured knick-knacks just for Amelie. Or maybe it's always like that. Either way, she matched the sofa so well that she all but disappeared, and we almost went home with a cushion.

Personally I knew I was going to have a good afternoon the moment I walked through the door and detected the smell of home baking. I've already experienced the joys of Hungarian strudel, but yesterday I branched out into the world of Hungarian apple cake. Frankly I don't know why the country's called Hungary. They must be stuffing themselves 24/7. Being too polite to say no, I helped myself to three slices, and sent telepathic messages ordering them to wrap the rest in foil and let me take it home. Fortunately those messages were received, so I was up to five slices by the end of the day.

Anyhoo, we spent an enjoyable three hours chatting about life, art, culture, and cats that steal underwear. We also discovered that Amelie doesn't like Nat King Cole, and having listened to her trying to sing a duet for five minutes, Lisa had to take her into the bedroom for a feed. She seemed to be gone for ages, but let's face it, it takes a long time to rifle through someone's drawers, unearth all their valuables, and stuff them into your bag. I'm surprised she was back as soon as she was. Maybe they had nothing worth stealing.

In Lisa's absence, our hosts mentioned that they'd read my blog post about my colleague's first day at work, which is not the kind of news you want to hear when you can't remember what you wrote. I thought they were going to beat me up while Lisa was out of the room, but fortunately they appreciated the humour, and swore they hadn't put poison in my tea. I still think they were trying to kill me though. Five slices of cake is enough to give anyone a heart attack.

But by the end of the afternoon we'd discovered that we all have a lot in common. For a start, we share an interest in Augusten Burroughs: they like to read his books, while we prefer to harrass him in public. Then there's our mutual love of photography. My colleague's partner has had work displayed in French art galleries, while I like to stick photos of myself on the web. The similarities are uncanny.

Anyhoo, a good time was had by all (unless they were just being polite), and I left with the feeling that we've now put the emphasis firmly on the second syllable of workmate. I thought I might take the last of the apple cake into work tomorrow for the rest of my colleagues to share, but the way it's disappearing, I have to say the chances are looking slim. Which is more than I can say for myself.