Rockall Times obtains Kimberley Quinn diary extract

News that ex-David Blunkett dominatrix Kimberley Quinn has been keeping a diary over the past year has been the talk of tout Londres for the past week. Speculation that Quinn will publish and be damned once she's departed back to America has caused considerable consternation among those to whom these things matter a great deal.

So far, security around the diary has supposedly been intense with rumours that each page written is added to a heavily guarded safe at Quinn's house in London’s exclusive Mayfair district.

But incredibly, a page of the diary has been tracked down by one of The Rockall Times' crack team of reporters who somehow found the thing in the wastebasket at his home following a one-night stand with some American floozy he picked up in a nightclub on Park Lane.

In what The Rockall Times sees as valuable contribution to history in the making we are printing the page showing the events in a working week of the woman who has changed the course of British history:

Monday

Wake up bright and early ready for another exciting week at the Spectator. Stare hard at the man in bed beside me but fail to recognise him. He is old and ugly so am forced to accept that it must have been my catch from the Enterprise Ball For Senior Citizens held in Chelsea last night. Leave the house before my companion stirs — though his snoring is rather sexy.

Take cab to the office while reviewing William's progress over video-phone with ghastly new nanny. Note to self: check on progress of visa for that other one from Korea or wherever else it is.

Good day's work as I commission an amusing article by Boris on why Sheffield men are divine. Spend the early afternoon fluttering my eyelids at the mirror to practice my technique and the late afternoon calling all those I am supposed to be with but won’t be tonight.

Attend glamorous party in Knightsbridge and encounter a remarkably attractive 80-year-old who is hard of hearing. Think I manage to get his interest when I coo gently in his ear: "I've always wondered what it would be like to sleep with a deaf man."

Do so later.

Tuesday

Unfortunate start to the day when I find my conquest from last night dead in the bed beside me. Since attracting attention would be bad form I slip out and take a cab to the office pausing only to put some of the silver cutlery in my handbag as a memento of my night of love.

Manage to sell space in the magazine to a Home Office official who seems strangely uncomfortable with the idea of his department advertising in the Spectator for J-Grade staff at the asylum processing centre in Dudley in the first place and tells me it seems irregular but that he is only doing what he’s been told to do by his boss. I smile sweetly and the deal is done.

Email William some emoticons for the nanny to show him how I feel about him.

Go over to a reception at the Spanish embassy where I meet a very attractive man with only one leg. My chat up line — "I've always wondered what it would be like to sleep with a cripple" — goes down well.

Wednesday

A grim breakfast of chorizo and over-cooked egg at my new friend's house.

Leave for the office as soon as I can where I spend the morning working on a project to attract one of the few jewellers in Bond Street who have not yet advertised in the Spectator to consider doing so.

Great success later when I get the enlargements of the holiday snaps from my time away with David back earlier than expected.

Meet up with him later and we enjoy a three-in-a-bed romp with Daisy his dog. I describe the photos to David and he asks how I got them done so soon. I explained that I told the man behind the counter "no favours but quicker". David cackles with laughter and tells me that will come in useful and asks me saucily if I want to see his "little lad".

Find out — again — what it’s like to sleep with a blind man.

Thursday

David leaves at 06:00 after being up since 04:30 reading a summary of the day's press in Braille.

A day at home for me spent researching my book on great women publishers from America who have invigorated tired old British magazines. So far I have only one name but I feel that may be enough.

Read amusing parliamentary sketch in Guardian newspaper and decide that I am by captivated by the wit and erudition of the author. The man has a strange, almost pig-like, name but I make a note of it in my big black book. Wonder what it would be like to sleep with a man with an almost pig-like name.

Stephen was due home this evening but I call his office in America and — after a putting on a rather good impression of his PA's voice — tell him he needs to stay there a while longer.

Don’t fancy another evening with David and his boxes so make grand entrance at awards ceremony for accountants in Milton Keynes following helicopter trip. Most of the men are pretty boring but I amuse myself by telling the worse of the lot that "I’ve always wondered what it's like to sleep with a bland man".

Do so later.

Friday

Thank God it’s Friday! Get to the office late after problems with the helicopter ride back to London and receive call from David who tells me the "nanny problem is sorted". I don’t know what that means but it sounds good news anyway. He finishes by telling me that I'll have to "do him a favour later and make it slower". Whatever that means!

Spend the rest of the day discussing ideas for his next column with Taki. He does seem a very eye-catching gentleman I must say and I am flattered when he calls me a "stupid Yank", which I take to be a Greek compliment.

As it's the end of the week I celebrate with all the office staff (except Rod's new PA who's strangely absent) who I have instructed to tell me ten good things I've done this week. The stuff I have to hear would be enough to go to anyone’s head but luckily I'm not that way inclined.

End up at party for an old friend in Kensington but decide he's not old enough and spend most of the evening talking over circulation, advertising space, and marketing with a scrumptious man from the Age Concern magazine who has a lovely crinkly face and looks at least a hundred.

Do so later.

Previously

• Downing Street rocked by diary scandal
• Exclusive: Those Lord Archer prison hellhole diaries
• Xmas diary of a Rock Star