I'm far too easily led. My A-level English teacher once described me as 'acquiescent', which I thought meant I was good in the water, so naturally I just agreed with him. But now I know what he was getting at. He meant that I'm far too quick to listen to people who complain about the size of my font. I just never learn.

So after being stung - yes, that's right, STUNG - by the harsh, unwarranted, and (let's face it) jealousy-fuelled criticism of my small, yet beautifully formed, font by persons I shall refrain to name here (but you know who you are, and frankly you're all off my Christmas card list), I've reluctantly bowed to public pressure and, like Alice in Wonderland, taken a bite out of the 'eat me' cake, and rejected bonsai in favour of the mighty oak.

I think I lost the plot about three words into that sentence. Which just goes to show the kind of mental torment you people have put me through. The final straw was when I turned to Lisa for support last night, and she came back with a reassuring "Well it is a bit small".

Er, she was talking about my font size, did I make that clear? Good.

So here you are. I hope you're all happy now. My blog can now hold its own in sofa-reading tests, and will save you a fortune in Windolene, requiring significantly less cleaning of nose prints from your monitor screen. I'm always happy to help.

And the first person who says "I preferred it the way it was before", dies. Slowly and painfully.

Before I go, may I just say that Steve Ovett is fat. Yes, that Steve Ovett. No wonder he hasn't been on TV lately. The only place he's been running is down the pie shop.

Right, I'm off to meet Lisa at a Brighton drinking hole called 'The Pump House'. It's clearly a magnet for international megastars - Lisa once saw Christopher Biggins coming out of a shop nearby. I can only dream of being that lucky.