I had a very strange client at one of the agencies I worked for in London. I became quite fond of this man because, although he was EXTREMELY hard work, he was just so far out of the norm, you’d never really know what you were going to get, so you had to be on your A game every time you met him.

Examples of his strangeness:

1. The first time I had a meeting with him I asked him for his mobile number so I could contact him about something while he was out and about that afternoon. Like a nine year old schoolboy he recited this number as FAST as he possibly could, then looked at me waiting for me to ask him to repeat it. With a glint in my eye, I looked back at him and repeated it to him and asked if I had got it down correctly. He nodded: I had. And from that day forth, a small challenge began between us: his, to throw me as many little challenges as possible; mine, to win as many of the games as he could throw at me.

2. One of his staff members was telling me he went to Malaysia on holiday once. He must have met a love interest over there as he promptly put up a photo frame on his desk with a picture of the two of them in it. The next day the first frame had been joined by three other identical frames on his desk. In each of the frames was the exact same picture.

3. He used to just walk into sales meetings, throw open the door, shout out a few numbers and turn on his heel and walk away. His sales staff would be left there trying to figure out what the numbers were related to.

So, I think we’ve established that he was a fairly odd chap. The icing on the cake for me was one day when my creative director and I had to go and show him some brand work. He was staying at a hotel on the other side of London, so we arranged to meet him in the bar. My CD and I ordered a cup of tea each while we waited for him. He strode in, and we started to show him the work. As we sat there though, his bony hand kept darting out (in a way he sort of reminded me of Monty Burns from The Simpsons), scooping up the sugar cubes, then cupping his hand up to his mouth and slipping them furtively in, one-by-one-by-one. It was really quite off-putting – he was doing this like a child would, thinking they were getting away with it. It’s like when kids squeeze their eyes shut with all of their might and think they’re fooling you that they’re asleep. We finished presenting the work, were waved away ceremoniously, and walked out of the hotel bar.

I recounted that story several times for people and they all thought it was pretty odd. Then, one day I was telling someone and they said “maybe he’s diabetic”. I couldn’t believe that me, being a T1 myself had not even entertained this thought. I guess there were a couple of things at play: for one I was a totally lousy diabetic at the time… BG tests were sort of a once a week type thing although I always took my insulin (albeit the same amount every day no matter what happened). Secondly, because I knew how terribly strange this man was it probably hadn’t occurred to me that there might be an actual reason behind the sugar-snatching.

Anyway, I recount this story because yesterday I was that strange lady. It was an absolute cracker of a day and my husband was out surfing, so after feeding the baby, I packed him up in his buggy and headed out for a walk. There are some markets up the hill once a month, so I thought I’d head there. It’s a bit of an uphill hike, so I put on my running shoes, exercise trousers, sports bra, racer-back singlet and cap. I was out to burn some calories and dressed appropriately.

I’d also prepared myself diabetes-wise. Had reduced the insulin taken with breakfast, and had removed my pump an hour before-hand.

Inevitably though, by the time I got to my destination I was low: 3.1. And very grumpy about it. So, I pulled the buggy over to the side of the markets and got out the bag of jelly beans I keep in one of the pockets, and started shovelling them in my mouth. I purposefully left my BG tester on top of the buggy in the hope that passers-by might click that I was diabetic, because here I was, Miss Sporty Spice, by this time a bit sweaty, looking like a complete contradiction of herself: dressed like a fitness-seeker yet eating junk food like a couch potato. I really hate that. I feel like pulling out a sign which has in large lettering “I am Diabetic. When you exercise you sometimes need to have glucose to save you from going into a coma. I am not just pigging out on sweets”.

**Incidentally, the whole episode turned into a bit of a diabetes disaster. I was 8.0 when I got back (I ran most of the way back, to burn off the jellybeans). Got in the shower (pump still off) and had gone up to 9.7, so put my pump back on and did a correction, then ate my lunch and gave myself a bolus. An hour after lunch I was 16.7 so gave myself another correction. An hour after that I’d gone up to 20.0!!!!!!! By this time we were visiting relatives and I felt awful, but didn’t want to make a nuisance of myself so didn’t even ask for a glass of water (which I would have murdered – could have drunk a whole litre). Who on earth knows what had caused this extreme response…. adrenaline from the running? Harrumph.

Have a good week, people! Good luck out there.