Frustration, n. The feeling you get when Lisa's face unexpectedly (and spectacularly) swells up overnight, making her look like a cross between Leslie Ash and a Tweenie, only for her to refuse to let you post a photo of her on your blog. See also: Tragedy.

But on the bright side, I do have the notes she made whilst on the phone to NHS Direct this morning. 'Breathing Tongue'. I think it's some kind of Native American name. Which might explain why she listened to the nurse's advice and replied "How?". But whatever the explanation, it was clearly important enough for her to write it down and draw a ring around it. Despite the fact that it was the only thing on the piece of paper.

Anyhoo, Lisa may have looked like Angelina Jolie for the first time in her life, but she still wasn't happy, so after a twenty minute chat with the NHS's finest, we headed down the road to 'BrightDoc', the out of hours surgery at Brighton General Hospital. Which I'd like to claim is only five minutes walk from my flat, but I can't. It's less than two minutes. The doctor we saw there, who was like a female version of Doogie Howser MD, flicked through a medical textbook for five minutes, answered my incisive allergy-related question with a confident "I don't know", then shrugged and gave Lisa a prescription for Piriton. Which we could have bought over the counter. So that was an hour well spent.

But in altogether better news, my successful installation of a new graphics card on Tuesday clearly went straight to my head, as I found myself unexpectedly ordering the overpriced bit of plastic on the right on Wednesday, which, three days and a bit of tinkering later, is now sitting snugly inside my PC and merrily tripling its RAM. Who says you need fish oils to improve your memory.