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Tuesday, September 08, 2009

I realise there's nothing more dull than other people's dreams, but last night I dreamt I met Hitler. That's the dull bit. The interesting bit is that having chatted to him for ten minutes over a cup of tea, I successfully managed to convince him that everything he'd ever done was wrong. I don't know if that makes me more megalomaniacal than he was, but he did say that no one had ever explained things to him the way I had. If only I'd been around in 1939.

To be honest, I probably wouldn't dream of Adolf quite so much if my daughter didn't have the hair of Hitler and the outlook of a dictator. Frankly the only thing stopping her invading Poland is her inability to walk. But as it turns out, she may be on the verge of the kind of world domination Hitler could only dream of.

A medical photographer rushed into my office this afternoon brandishing a piece of paper. I thought it was peace for our time, but it turned out to be a consent form. Apparently the NHS want to use Amelie's photos for purposes other than posters. So as of 3pm this afternoon, I've officially given permission for her face to appear on leaflets, websites, coasters and possibly t-shirts for the Chief Executive to wear. By this time next year, she could be bigger than swine flu.