What can I do?

Hannah has decided to ditch the bus driver. His name, it turns out, was Graham. He was 48, almost bald and incredibly boring, although generous. Hannah tells me she never even kissed him, but has had free bus travel for a fortnight. I told her she was a prostitute in all but name and she smiled, for the first time in weeks. Hopefully now she’ll consider getting in contact with Nathan and we can get back to some kind of happy normality.
Work was a pain in the hole today. I got there to find a pre-menstrual Philippa on the verge of a breakdown, and instantly forgot how to do everything she taught me last week. Thankfully Tom’s wife was still on hand to go over stuff with me and I think it may have sunk in a bit more this time. She’s enormous, by the way. If she’s not having twins, or a hippo, I’ll be amazed.
Ted’s son Simon seems to have taken some kind of surreal shine to me. He’s sending me e-mails daily, has added all sorts of comments on my Facebook page, and keeps suggesting other fun things we can do together after the football game. Maybe he’s just lonely. Or maybe he’s in love with me. Or maybe he’s just another of those socially inept web-obsessed loonies that seem to latch themselves onto me with frightening regularity. I think I might have to be feeling ill tomorrow (the day of the game) and cancel, rather than open myself up to months of unwelcome pestering.
And people wonder why I have no friends.

RC 5-3-10