It's interesting the things you learn while you're having your teeth polished. I was in the chair this morning for a check-up, when my dentist informed me that the government had been in touch to ask him what provisions he's made for atomic war. Apparently he has to 'buddy-up' (his words, not mine) with another local dentist to ensure that between them they'll be able to provide advice on flossing in the event of a nuclear winter.

My dentist was of the opinion that there might be better things for the NHS to spend their money on, but personally I find it reassuring to know that in the aftermath of World War Three, someone out there will be thinking about my teeth. After all, it's not called fallout for nothing. I might need advice on dentures.

But that aside, Lisa and I are going out tonight. Back in January I booked tickets for Level 42 at the Brighton Dome. Three days later we found out that Lisa was pregnant, and we'd have a four-week-old baby on the night of the concert. How we laughed.

But the babysitters are booked (though they haven't turned up yet), and having ordered it at the beginning of the week, we're now in possession of an electric breast pump, so that Amelie won't starve while we're singing along to 'Lessons in Love'.

The pump arrived yesterday, and included in the parcel was an advert for this...


It's like something you'd see in a copy of Mad Magazine. Still, it's reassuring to know that just because you're on the phone, hammering out a few dates for your social diary, doesn't mean you can't connect yourself up to a milking machine.