Name: Jim Thornton
Job: Executive creative director, Leo Burnett London
Professional mission: Nil desperandum, jolly well carpe diem
Personal mantra: Sapiens qui prospicit, old chap
5.30am I am awoken in the West wing of the rural idyll by the call of the first cuckoo of spring and the caresses of Cecilia, formerly Cecil, my general factotum, whom I inherited with the estate and title of Lord Maximillion de Blogsweb of Plumpton-under-the-Table.
5.31am Cecilia's caresses succeed in igniting the flame of my lighter, and I suck lustily upon that sublime first cigarette of the day.
6.30am Awake to find Cecilia's flame ignited once more. Inhale deeply upon second cigarette.
6.32am I dictate my first brilliant idea of the day to Cecilia, before dismissing her to draw my bath, iron my newspaper and comb my wig.
7.30am I telephone the children in the East wing to say "good morning".
7.32am Cecilia introduces me to my wife of 17 years, Melanie.
7.35am Chopper arrives to whisk me up to London. I've no idea why.
8.00am Circle west London as pilot tries to locate Kensington Village, before landing on the Cromwell Road flyover. Not encouraged by mutterings of: "I know it's bloody well around here somewhere."
8.30am Quick call to the Met Commissioner smoothes over a misunderstanding about my rights to park a chopper on the Cromwell Road flyover. Rendle, a faithful old family retainer, greets me with my pipe and smoking jacket.
8.45am Nod and smile to staff who've lined up to welcome me. I press a few coins into the palm of one particularly scurvy-ridden young chap, only to later be told that it was, in fact, our managing director.
11.00am Dogs arrive from Sussex to lie at my feet for the first sitting of my annual portrait.
12.00pm Dictate second brilliant idea of the day to Rendle.
1.00pm Lunch with McDonalds, a family from Locharbour, whose estate has hosted many a bonny Glorious Twelfth.
5.00pm Meeting with P&G. My third brilliant idea of the day - a shampoo called "Wooster" and a conditioner called "Jeeves" - is met with blank looks all round. The chap with scurvy ushers me politely to the door.
6.00pm Spot of fishing. Land a salmon at the 24-hour Tesco fish counter, but am arrested for trying to shoot a pheasant in aisle three.
6.03pm Chopper whisks me back to the rural idyll. Droit de seigneur night at the local hostelry. Tally-ho!