Lydia Nethercoat Anything and EverythingSt Columba's, Glenties, Co Donegal.

I don't know what to make of myself - Big Me, I mean. I suppose I look okay. Could do with a tad more make-up, to cover up the wrinkles. Then something catches my eye, photographs on the desk. There are a few framed pictures. I wonder, could this be my family? Wedding photo: oh my God . . .Wow, I look good in that dress! Big Me looks a lot younger there, only twentysomething I would say, and that must be the elusive Mr Kazinski . . . Well, if I do say so myself, Big Me has good taste - he's hot stuff: tall, dark and tanned. The frame is engraved with "James and Lydia, 2016". That must be the year I get married, so I would be, er, 25 - no, 26. There are two more photos: one family one, I suppose, Big Me, the husband and three kids.

My train of thought is rudely interrupted by the door opening. An overweight, pompous-looking man within a gold suit storms into the room. Yes, gold. He doesn't look very pleased.

"Now look here, Mrs Kazinski, I want this deal sorted out now," he thunders. "Not tomorrow, not this afternoon, not in an hour's time, right now. I am fed up with these delays."

"Ah, good morning, Mr Poppadoppalis, and how are you today? I trust you received this morning's paperwork," Big Me says. Why is she so polite? I wouldn't stand for that.

"Don't patronise me, madam. I am not in the mood for confrontations. Of course I didn't receive my paperwork," he barks, reddening in the face. "I have had to come to the 120th floor, for the third time this week, taking into account that the sky shaft is out of service, so I have had to make do with the elevator, instead of going straight to my own floor, to pick up my paperwork."

This man clearly has an ego problem. And he needs to shave his sideburns.

"Well, if you went back to your own floor, Mr Poppadoppalis, you would find the appropriate paperwork, and references to deal closure on your desk. The deal was closed last night. I'm sure you would have known that if you had been here, but I understand you left work early to play golf."

"Ah, um, well, very good then," he replies.

"You're welcome. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'm very busy this morning. Julie will help you with anything else."

He looks at Big Me for a moment, then coughs loudly and shows himself out of the room.

I'm good! The Big Me picks up the telephone thing and says: "Julie, make sure the control floor are on to getting the sky shaft sorted. People are having to make do with the elevator. It's nearly as ludicrous as using the stairs."

Before I have a moment to think, the door swings open again and a little girl comes bouncing in. She's so sweet; she looks about seven, maybe eight, has blond curls and rosy red cheeks and . . .

" Mummy!" She leaps at Big Me. This must be my daughter.

"Hi, darling. Now, you must be quiet. I've got to get on with my work."

"But Mummy, you need to listen. I've been so clever. Look, I've learned my number and address . . . Listen!"

"That's great, love, but I need to . . ."

" I live at 4731B Evergreen Lane, Buckingham, County of New London, England, Atlantica, and I am citizen number 56789202," she bellows proudly.

"Lilly, shut up. I need to do my work, and you're supposed to be feeling sick, young lady," Big Me says exasperatedly.

"One more thing, Mum," the little girl says.

"Make it quick, because I have a ton of work to be getting on with."

"Who's that girl?"

"What girl?"

'Dazzling writing, handles dialogue with the ease of a seasoned author, tight plotting - watch out for Lydia Nethercoat.'