Well I faced the victim of my dodgy tips, only to find she'd successfully picked winners at 25-1 and 14-1. So that's the last time I'm ever asked to help out on the gambling front. Not that it was my fault - she should have looked at my clothes and car, and realised I know nothing about making money.

Anyhoo, having enjoyed an afternoon breakfast, I reluctantly agreed to allow Lisa to go home, and we set off on another jaunt down to Brighton. I successfully avoided getting lost, though we stopped for something to eat at the M25 services and were promptly approached by two guys who wanted to know where they were, and whether London was anywhere nearby. I thought it was, but not as near as the shop selling maps, which was about 20 yards away. Still, I confidently told them London was north, and plucked a figure of 45 minutes out of the air. Amazingly they believed me, and left happy.

I enjoyed my second breakfast of the day, while being probed about my secret past as a babe magnet, and having watched an incident of road rage brewing in the queue for petrol, we continued on to the south coast. Fortunately I know Brighton like the back of my hand now, so I had no trouble recognising Lisa's street from a distance of about ten yards. It was the sign which gave it away.

I then graciously agreed to drink tea and eat chocolate biscuits, and discovered that Lisa has been to Goodwood racecourse, in the same way my niece has been to China - in a womb with a view. I was sent packing with a complimentary packet of Polos, and made it back to Shotley Gate before midnight. Hurrah! Let's do it all again in two weeks time.