Believe me, Liz saying she giggles is a bit like Tarzan saying he, well, does whatever Tarzan does to make that extraordinary noise like a chap probably would if ever he had to go through childbirth.
I've seen a whole marquee disintegrate under the influence of Liz's laugh. Bottle it and there'd be no need for Prozac. Earplug sales would soar, though! But yes, this place is addditive. Why the hell am I sitting here alone in an office in the middle of London at dusk when I'm supposed to be working on a presentation? Because I keep darting the mouse up to that bloody bookmark, that's why. I swear it's got a mind of its own.
Get thee behind me Santa...
(Sodding dyslexia - always made for awkward moments in Selfridge's Christmas Grotto)