Brighton General isn't a twenty minute walk up a hill. It's a twenty-five minute mountain climb. I tried it this morning. The only way you can do it in twenty minutes is if you come back down wearing rollerskates.

But that's nothing. As of 1pm this afternoon, I've been told where my three-day induction course is taking place next week. It's in Haywards Heath. Which is slightly more than a twenty-minute walk.

But while I'm contemplating spending two hours a day on the free employee bus (smile - your taxes are paying for that), the good news is that my route up the south face of the Race Hill this morning took me past the house where Lisa grew up. You can tell it's on top of a mountain because the satellite dish is less than two feet off the ground. The air's too thin to put it any higher.

As for yesterday, Lisa and I spent an enjoyable afternoon entertaining her friend M, who I first met almost three years ago whilst surrounded by blood and vomit. This is the third time I've cooked for her, so having previously cemented our friendship over a couple of frozen pizzas, I decided (well, Lisa decided) to branch out into nouvelle cuisine this time around by preparing 'Italian Beef Casserole'. It was a three-way effort between me, Lisa and Gary Rhodes. He provided the recipe, she chopped the onions, and I dropped the carrots on the floor. It turned out surprisingly well.

So having successfully ruined M's diet, we spent a fun couple of hours on the sofa discussing my love of Lidl, M's admiration for Aldi, and Lisa's loathing of both, before M revealed her addiction to the smell of hot water bottles. That was a slightly surreal moment. But she went on to wax lyrical about the realisation of her long-held dream to build a hut in the garden (possibly to get away from her children, I'm not sure), which was very interesting. Personally the only hut I'd want in my garden is a Pizza Hut, but each to their own.