Half an hour before Big Sis's plane touches down, and we've hit a snag. The political correspondent of the BBC has just alerted me (direct from Brighton seafront) to the fact that Sir Menzies Campbell will be flirting with a bunch of women this morning five minutes walk from my flat, in a shameless attempt to drum up a bit of publicity for his conference tomorrow.

The problem is that I've promised to take my Sis to play crazy golf, and the Running 4 Women event (a mystery to me, since I'm more used to running from women) have set up the finish line by the 18th hole, where doddery old Ming will be eying up the talent and reminding everyone he was in the Olympics every five minutes.

Although on the plus side, having completely forgotten to go and wave at Tony Blair when he was here last week, this could be my chance to get on TV. All I need is a wig and a running vest.