Day 16: spoke too soon

Uffff, oh how I repent me of my optimism yesterday, for I nearly came a cropper tonight at a retirement party for the fabulous Mrs Jacobs.
Mrs Jacobs has put many a young tyke on to the path of fame and fortune, or at least job satisfaction, in her role as careers advisor and general wisdom dispenser.
Anyhoo, I was bobbling about in a cloud of loveliness and bonhomie, reminiscing about the careers advice of my own youth (in some sort of random cupboard at school: "have you any idea what you want to be?" "A librarian." "Whatever for?") when I found it was time to tuck into the puddings and found myself filling a bowl with date cake, raspberry pavlova and a chocolate rice krispie thingy. I was almost back to my seat before I remembered, with some shame and horror, that I wasn't allowed the chocolate rice krispie thingy.
Ideally I would have then been rescued by someone, probably Professor Brian Cox OBE given his current track record of turning up at disastrous points in my life (1997 general election night*, quests to understand quarks, attempts to give up chocolate etc), flinging the door open, hollering 'nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo' in a catastrophe-averted-but-only-just-hollywood-stylee manner and consigning the evil chocolate krispie to a maybe-the-size-of-an-atom-or-maybe-the-size-of-the-universe black hole.
Sadly that didn't happen. I tried to give the evil krispie  to the person next to me, who tried the same thing with the person next to her and it did a half-orbit of the table, as no one would claim responsibility for it, and then it was hidden under a napkin.
How long until this torment is over?
4 weeks you say?
Knickers.

*I can never hear 'Things Can Only Get Better' without suddenly remembering, as I did on election night, that I needed to buy Sharon a new fish slice. I melted hers by accident on a hot pan. Sorry Sharon.