I was feeling a bit down yesterday afternoon, so I went here. It cheered me right up. If only David had known about this place. Psalm 23 might never have been written.

I actually found myself in Happy Valley as a direct result of my generous and helpful nature. It's all give, give, give with me. Lisa had to make a work-related trip to Woodingdean at 2pm, to demand answers from one of her subordinates as to why she hasn't returned to work within 24 hours of a major operation, so naturally I agreed to give her a lift. Mainly because I knew she was on expenses, and I thought there might be some money in it for me. That was my first mistake.

Having arrived at the house (and not been invited in) I found myself with half an hour to kill, so I wandered over the crest of a nearby hill, down a long straight road and, like Ranulph Fiennes with fingers, promptly found the Lost Valley of Happiness. If the photo on the right wasn't a low-quality mobile phone shot, you'd be able to make all that out.

So I spent an enjoyable thirty minutes walking through the sunshine of Happy Valley like a cheerful David. Then went back to meet Goliath and the woman with a sling.