After a marathon three weeks on the south coast, Lisa and I were due to return to Shotley Gate last night. It's now lunchtime on Saturday, so obviously we're still in Brighton. Which is what happens when you have a brand new bed just crying out to be slept on. It didn't seem right to leave it. So having packed up all our stuff at Lorraine's yesterday morning, and bid farewell (or good riddance, depending on your point of view) to Timmy and Oscar, we've managed to make it a grand total of five miles across town.

We returned to Lisa's flat to discover that the council, in their infinite wisdom, have repainted the road outside and doubled the number of disabled parking spaces (from one to two). Now, I love the disabled as much as the next man (unless the next man's Paul McCartney), but there are not enough spaces for the residents, let alone their visitors, and the lone disabled parking space is occupied by a bona fide disabled person about once every fifth Tuesday when there's a q in the month. So why they need to cut down on the number of spaces I can use, in order to provide a second spot for the legless, I've no idea.

Not that I'm prejudiced. Some of my best friends are Scope charity shops.

Anyhoo, it's the FA Cup final this afternoon, making it a good time to hit the motorway and return to Suffolk. We're due at a pizza-tasting event at Crash n Donna's new house tomorrow night, and I don't want to be late.