I have reached a major milestone in my journalistic career.
The first Echo byline pales into insignificance, the masterly coverage of Britain in Bloom means nothing, and you can forget the live web chat too.
I had my first anonymous tip off last week.
Now, the details of this must remain top secret - so don't tell anyone.
Suffice it to say that it involves the church and a shoe fetish. A brown envelope containing proof of the alleged debauchery has arrived for me at another office, and tomorrow it will land on my desk courtesy of internal mail.
I can't wait, I feel like a kid the night before Christmas.
Already I've got a flavour of what this dossier of scandal might contain, thanks to a cryptic voicemail (number withheld, naturally).
"I don't really want to identify myself but I thought you'd like to hear about Mr xxxx who's running a xxxx from his premises in xxxx.
"If you log onto xxxx you'll find all the info on it.
"Interestingly this man is big in the church and it seems to me that the vicar of this church is in full favour of this.
"I do sincerely hope, Laura, that you will be able to act on this information.
"I hope you got the paperwork that I left for you at your office yesterday - which is all true."
My hunch is the poor bloke's done nothing illegal, my anonymous source is at least 89, and all of the allegations are libellous.
Still, I do love my job.