No time for horse racing chat today (except to say that we should all get the mortgage money on Fokine at 6-1 in the Jersey Stakes. No really, I mean it this time) - I've just been forced to spend my vast gambling profits on a new monitor, having woken up this morning to find that my old one had died during the night. Honestly, the nerve of that monitor - I've only used it about eight hours a day for the last four years, you'd think it could've kept going a bit longer.

Fortunately though, I'm a two computer family these days, so I was able to reach for the emergency laptop. I'm not one to let major hardware failure stand between me and the Racing Post website.

So I've had a lovely stress-filled morning trawling the online computer retailers, looking for a new monitor, and finding that the one I want is no longer available from any supplier known to man. I eventually settled on a Philips one. That name is a sure sign of quality.

So I attempted to order one, cunningly arranging to have it sent to my parents house, as I'm off to Brighton tomorrow (but forget the burgling this time - my monitor was the only thing worth stealing), whereupon I discovered that they wouldn't let me have it delivered to an address other than that on my credit card. Cue change of plan, and a phonecall to my parents asking if I could use their card instead. Back to the retailer, where I re-entered the payment details, the transaction was processed, and... I was asked for a Halifax security password. Back on the phone to my parents, who couldn't remember the password and were out of the house with no access to the details. They suggested a few alternatives, so it was back to the website, where I entered three guesses, all incorrect, and was told I'd used up my quota of guesses, and would have to come back later.

It was at this point I decided I could do without a monitor, and live a life of simple purity in a cave somewhere.

To cut a long story short, I did eventually place my order, and looking on the bright side, I've proved that I CAN cope with high stress levels without turning into a rampaging psychopath. Though it was touch and go for a while there.

In other news, Elton John is playing in Ipswich tonight. I know, I couldn't quite believe it myself. Last month Joe Brown & Marty Wilde (laughing in the face of all those people who assumed they were dead), this month Elton John. Consistently high standards, that's what Ipswich is all about.

We're not easily impressed around here though. It takes more than an international megastar to get us out of the house of an evening. And so it is that... tickets are still available! Yes, Elton has failed to sell out Ipswich tonight. Madison Square Garden, yes, Wembley Arena, yes, but Ipswich, not a chance. We'd rather stay in and watch the football.

So all day we've had the amusing sight of every local news programme desperately plugging the ticket hotline in every broadcast, and even going so far as to state this afternoon that "tickets will be available on the door".

Hmmm... well I'll see how I feel. Big Brother's on though, and it looks like rain. I'm not sure I can be bothered...