Well it's 6pm, England are just kicking off the second half of their crucial match against Switzerland, and the whole country is settled in front of a TV set cheering the boys on.

Well, almost the whole country. Myself, I'm sitting in a doctor's waiting room in Brighton. Not that I'm ill. And neither is Lisa, despite the fact that she seems to have purple hair this week, which I'm sure can't be medically sound. But these days you don't have to be ill to pay a visit to the local surgery, so here we are. Well here I am. Lisa disappeared ten minutes ago and frankly I don't think they're bringing her back.

But fortunately, as part of my ongoing charade of being a writer, I have a pad and pen with me. If I'd known I'd have the entire waiting room to myself, I'd have brought my laptop, but you can't have everything, and I think I'm in with at least a sporting chance of being able to decipher my own handwriting when I get back to within reach of a computer later on, so it's no problem.

HANG ON!!! I've just noticed a portable TV up in the corner of the room behind me! Dare I turn it on..? I'm British, and therefore not inclined to openly leave my seat and turn on a TV in a public place, but what the heck...

Ha! I have the England match on TV before me! How amusing. There's half an hour to go and it's 1-0. But then I already knew that, thanks to the man we passed in the street outside, who obviously saw himself as some kind of modern day town cryer, and was staggering down the road at half time (overcome more with emotion than alcohol, I'm sure), singing "One nil, one nil..."

Marvellous. Well I'm all set. I'm tempted to open the bottle of wine we've just bought in Safeways. I wonder if the receptionist would lend me a corkscrew..? And I have to say, with all these references to Switzerland, I could murder a Toblerone.

Anyhoo, I drove down to Brighton this afternoon, having dumped my cat at my parents' house en route. They were out, but I'm sure they won't mind. It'll be nice for them to come home to an extra cat.

Having endured a traffic jam on the M25, during which I crossed my fingers, as part of a deal to ensure successful future employment for Weevil, I arrived on the south coast in time to rendezvous with a surprisingly large number of Lisa's family members. It took me aback slightly, meaning I forgot to carry out my fiendish plan of asking Lisa's mother for a supply of embarrassing childhood photos. Honestly, I could kick myself sometimes.

Oooh England have scored again. Marvellous. I always did like cuckoo clocks. Can I just say though, I'd rather there wasn't a poster offering cervical smears right under the television set. It's quite offputting. They have an impressive selection of leaflets on bladder weakness though.

Blimey, 3-0. I could happily have some Gruyere right now.

Well, Lisa's not back, and the match is almost over. But you can't ask for much more from a visit to the doctors - a blog post and a live football match. I should come here more often. It's almost worth being ill.

Well really! Some woman's just walked in and turned off my TV! The nerve of some people! This is not what I expect from a Labour run NHS.

Oh I see, they're chucking Lisa out and trying to close up for the day. Fair enough. I'll be off.