It's the 17th of November. Again.
If Lady Bracknell could persuade her editor to remove the calendar from the wall; scan the page in question; re-size the scanned image; and post it into this blog entry, her readers would be in possession of incontrovertible evidence of this duplication of dates.
But, given that the editor is insistent that, having not left the office intil 6 pm, this task might very well constitute the straw which breaks the metaphorical camel's back, Lady Bracknell's readers will just have to take her word for it.
And if the genius who is Terry Pratchett is determined that today is the 17th of November, who is Lady Bracknell to argue?
(Persons whose birthdays fall on the 18th of November may be a trifle disconcerted by this news but, as long as they are over 25, Lady Bracknell thinks it is unlikely that they will lose too much sleep over having to remain the age they were yesterday for another year. It is not, after all, as though their birthdays fall on the 29th of February. So they should, perhaps, be grateful for small mercies.)