I'm a bit disappointed with the size of our baby's ears.

But at least she's got Lisa's nose.

Anyhoo, earlier this week, in a rare moment when my car was actually working, I decided to buy a new baby seat. We've had our previous one for a good two months now, so it seemed like a good time to splash out. I'd been onto the Britax website, told them I drive a 1998 Skoda Felicia and, when they'd stopped laughing, they recommended the seat on the left. It arrived on Tuesday.

So having read the instructions and practiced strapping a cuddly pig into the seat, I attempted to fit it into my car yesterday morning. I'm not saying it was a saga, but if it had taken any longer, our child would have grown too big to fit into it. The problem is that despite being recommended for my exact make and model of car, my seatbelts aren't actually long enough to go round it.

But after two hours of discussion, experimentation and swearing, we eventually found a solution. Although I still think my idea of just never taking the baby anywhere in the car was better.

So having spent the morning longing for the days when you were allowed to drive down motorways with a baby on your lap, Lisa and I jumped on a bus and went into town. Before leaving, I'd been through the Racing Post website, scribbled down the names of thirteen horses, and put £6.40 on the Tote Placepot. I've done it a couple of times before, but I never seem to find the time these days. Anyone would think I have a job and a baby on the way.

Anyway, the reason for our trip into town was to get Lisa fitted for a nursing bra. They refused to do it a month ago on the grounds that she wasn't lactating, but now that she's on the verge of labour, they're willing to get out a tape measure. Unfortunately September's obviously a popular time for bra-fittings, and all the seats in Bravissimo were taken, so rather than stand for half an hour while a stranger man-handled Lisa's breasts, I headed for the nearest charity shop.

Which would have been a good idea, were it not for the fact that the Brighton Food Festival is on at the moment, and the streets are filled with people selling free-range oysters and organic pheasant. Having spent ten minutes trying to walk fifty yards down the road, and come close to being trampled by a few hundred foodies, I was just about ready to give up and go home.

But fortunately God sent me a sign...

A new shop has opened in North Street, and something tells me I'm their target customer. It's surprising how therapeutic a cup of tea and medicinal donut can be. I had the 'New York, New York', stuffed with cheesecake filling and covered in biscuit crumb. Frankly it should be available on the NHS. Although I already eat enough cakes at work.

Anyhoo, the donut perked me up just enough to enable me to escort Lisa around Boots for an hour. How anyone can spend that long in one shop, I have no idea. I've never even worn boots for that long. By the time we'd finished I could barely lift our basket, but by way of compensation, Lisa's purse was a good deal lighter.

From there we staggered to M&S for some labour ward pyjamas, before collapsing onto a bus and returning home, where I checked the racing results and found that I'd won £65.88. The three bras I bought Lisa cost me £76. I knew I should have staked another pound.