It's October 27th, and three days before we put the clocks back, so naturally it's about time I started my Christmas shopping. With the possibility that I could be occupied throughout November writing 50,000 words of pulp fiction for NaNoWriMo, I thought I'd better get the yuletide gift-buying out the way this week. And what better place to do it than Brighton, city of taste, culture, and creative body piercing. So I made a list of all the people I need to buy for (which, incidentally, numbered 15. I really need to get rid of some of this dead wood before next year. Starting with Melee I think...) and headed off into town yesterday afternoon.

Three and a half hours of intensive shopping later, and I had 7 out of 15 gifts successfully purchased. Hurrah! It's interesting the effect that the pressure of time had on my gift selection. I'm not saying it impaired my judgement, but frankly you've never seen such a dodgy collection of Christmas presents in your life. So any members of my family who are reading this, hoping for a quality, well-thought out gift this year, you can stop wasting your time. It's plastic novelty pap all the way. Never has the saying "It's the thought that counts" been so tested.

This morning I discovered to my delight that if I put my earplugs in and bury my face in the pillow, I can successfully sleep through Lisa's prolonged use of the hairdryer three feet away. She heartlessly woke me up at 7:20am though, right in the middle of an interesting dream I was having about creating a section on my website for my favourite penguin pictures. I'm not even sure I have any favourite penguin pictures. But that may not stop me, so watch this space.

Fortunately Lisa's happy for me to get behind the wheel of a car ten minutes after I've woken up from a deep penguin-related sleep, so I still managed to get her to work for 8am. The journey is always brightened up for me by the miniature golf course we pass along the seafront. Someone's altered the first 'P' on the sign into a 'B', so that it now reads 'Bitch and Putt'. Which is almost as amusing as the till receipt I got at Sainsburys the other day, which spelt 'pizza' as 'pizzer'. I dread to think how they spell broccoli.