It's Afghan racing! Possibly the most fun you can have with a dog without being charged by the RSPCA. I remember with great fondness the two minutes I spent last March watching what appeared to be the offspring of an ungodly union between a yeti and a dish mop, as they ambled around Hove greyhound track at low speed for the Mother's Day Afghan Trophy. It's still the funniest thing I've ever seen outside an episode of You've Been Framed. So I was naturally excited to discover last week that they were planning to do it all again for Mother's Day this year.

Unfortunately yesterday wasn't Mother's Day. The Afghan racing's not on until next week. But Lisa's mother can't make next week. I had no idea her social diary was so full. As it turns out, she has an appointment next Sunday to view the brand new million-pound house which has just been purchased by one of her nieces. I'm still not entirely sure why half of Lisa's family are living in mansions, while the other half are booking their wedding receptions at Moulsecoomb Leisure Centre, but I do know that she's introducing me to the wrong half.

So we spent an enjoyable three hours at Hove Greyhound Stadium yesterday, celebrating Mother's Day a week early. Obviously it would have been more enjoyable if I'd actually won something, instead of embarking on an eleven race losing streak, but you can't have everything. It's just lucky I didn't need to buy petrol on the way home. On the plus side, my future mother-in-law seemed pleased with the card from me and Lisa, and thanked me warmly for it. Which made me wish I'd actually seen the thing before we gave it to her. I still have no idea what Lisa bought.

Anyhoo, dogs are all very well, but personally I'd rather hug a robot. Saturday saw the start of the week-long Brighton Science Festival (at the time of writing, their website's not working, which is kind of ironic for a bunch of computer geeks), and tonight they're holding an event called Can Robots Love? I don't think it's about vibrators, but I could be wrong.

I'm naturally keen to get down there and talk dirty to a Sat Nav, while Lisa's no stranger to hot smoking love from my toaster, so after a bit of persuasion, she's reluctantly agreed to come with me. What I haven't told her is that the event clashes with An Evening With Iain Banks at The Old Market, and she's an avid reader of his books (just as long as he doesn't put an 'M' in his name). As it happens, I know someone else who's a big fan too, but he'll need to get on a National Express coach pretty sharpish to make it in time.

Unfortunately the £6 ticket price (Darren Hayes, are you reading this?) includes a free glass of wine, and Iain Banks has written a book on Scottish whisky distilleries, so I'm not sure it would be good for Lisa's recovery. And besides, why would you want to get up close and personal with a writer, when you can spend a night of passion with Metal Mickey?