Impotence

Well, I've finally gotten my libido back after carelessly leaving it in a Copenhagen hotel room last month by mistake. Always look under the bed before checking out! It's a relief just to have found out what had happened to it; I was genuinely beginning to worry there was something wrong with me.

"I'm impotent!" I wailed down the phone to various friends. "Nothing turns me on anymore, nothing! Not even the bathtub scene in 9 Songs, or the bit in 24 where Jack Bauer takes my knickers off and dances round the Counter Terrorist Unit with them on his head."

"You're a hypochondriac!" they wailed back, advising me that the panicking was making things worse and perhaps I should use this period of chastity to get on with some work instead.

Boyfriend is in America, I am rubbish at phone sex, and Rabbit has been as good as useless – if only because I hadn't realised it takes four batteries and not two. I just kept changing the same pair over and over again, wondering why it'd tremble pathetically for a minute or so before conking out completely. One anonymous reader thought it could be the motor overheating and suggested I keep it in the fridge instead. But, sadly, Flatmate seemed to object.

But anyway, Bunny is up and running again now, and last week a package arrived from the kind Danish hotel staff: my libido, at long last, all wrapped up in brown paper with a little note to say they hoped I'd come again.