Can I just say how pleased I am that London's got the 2012 Olympics? (Hey, it's bang up to date, this blog, isn't it). Can I? Well actually, no I can't, because to be honest I really couldn't care less. I'll be watching the whole thing on TV, so it makes no difference to me whether they hold it here or in France. Either way I'll still have to look at Sally Gunnell's face every day for three straight weeks. And she might not age well in the next seven years. Which really doesn't bear thinking about.

And besides, right now I have bigger fish to fry. Yes, it's true, I've made an official complaint to McDonalds about the standard of service at their Clacton-on-Sea branch. Much like the ASA, who allow people like me to make frivolous complaints about necrophilia via their website, McDonalds accept online vitriol too. So I filled out their complaints form via the web yesterday, and sent it off.

Lisa reminded me that her mother is a diabetic, which was handy because it enabled me to present our experience on Sunday as less of a casual stop for food, and more of a mercy dash to prevent a diabetic coma. Which ought to increase my chances of getting some free vouchers.

But when I'm not indulging in no-win no-fee lawsuits, I'm busy making my way home from Brighton. I left there at 11:15pm last night, and arrived at the M25 at midnight to be greeted by numerous flashing signs telling me it was closed between junctions 23 and 21a. I love these warning signs which assume we all know the number of every junction we pass. I couldn't even tell you what county junction 23 is in, let alone whether I'm going that way. So I drove around the M25 in a state of constant panic in case the road suddenly came to an end.

Fortunately it didn't, but the M25's still closed as we speak, which will go down well with the IOC members who've just voted for London.

Now I'm home, I'm supposed to entering a Channel 4 comedy writing competition. Obviously the BBC's Last Laugh contest did me no good whatsoever, but in the words of cuddly philanthropist and all round Mr Nice Guy, Richard Nixon, "Failure is not falling down. Failure is falling down and not getting up again". Although Dick himself gave up pretty soon after the Watergate scandal, so it shows what he knows.

But nevertheless, I'm giving it another go. Probably. I have one week to write three 2-minute sketches and a 3-minute topical monologue. My first attempt two weeks ago resulted in a 5-minute sketch which I refuse to cut down, so it's gone well so far. And as if that wasn't enough, Channel 4 themselves are doing their best to scupper my chances by putting on horse racing this week.

Talking of which, it's about to start. I'm off...