It's mine and Lisa's 19 month anniversary today, and to celebrate she's given me a very special gift. Her cold. Although to be honest, I'm placing half the blame with her mother, a healthy pensioner with the constitution (and sheer brute strength) of an ox, who, having been germ-free for the past year, went to the doctor's for a flu jab two weeks ago, and has had flu ever since. I was forced to get up close and personal with the woman last night whilst attempting to hand over a horse racing calendar at arm's length, so frankly she's as much to blame as her daughter.

Yesterday was quite a momentous day, as after 19 months of sampling the limited range of drinks on offer at "the best pub in Brighton", I finally decided to try their food. Technically it's not the first time I've eaten there, as the last time we visited, there was a fly in my drink, but this is the first time I've paid for the privilege. I can't say I'll be doing it again, but I did manage to clear my plate. Shortly after burning myself on it.

From there I went to the bank, where I had the joy of queuing for 25 minutes for the right to get at my own money (Barclays clearly felt that three cashiers at the main city centre branch at lunchtime on the first day back after Christmas would be ample staffing), before heading for the calendar shop, where I was delighted to see a sign saying "Everything Half Price!", only to be slightly less delighted when I discovered they'd sold out of the only one I wanted. I'd ordered the 2006 Channel 4 Racing Calendar on the internet at the beginning of December, but due to unfortunate levels of incompetence on the part of the vendor, all they managed to send me was a letter telling me it was no longer available. Which naturally I didn't get until three days before Christmas.

So I bought an Eric the Penguin calendar for myself, before heading to WHSmiths, where by some minor miracle I actually found the racing calendar I wanted. As well as a mile-long queue I didn't want. But hey, what's another 25 minutes standing in a line? It's Christmas after all. So having watched my life pass me by for most of the afternoon, I walked the two miles back to Lisa's flat in the freezing cold, stole her festive wrapping paper, and finally succeeded in delivering her mother's Christmas present three days late. And what did I get for my trouble? A bout of flu. Well, that and a baked potato. And a handful of Christmas chocolates. Oh, and a mini pavlova. Come to think of it, it was almost worth it.