Lisa had a delivery from the Next catalogue yesterday. I think the fact that she can fit into normal clothes again has gone to her head. Unfortunately, despite the fact that she's now back to the weight she was in the heady days before I impregnated her, she's not getting quite as much use out of her clothes as she'd like. It's surprisingly difficult to get dressed when you're permanently attached to a baby, and a virtual prisoner in your own home. Well I say your own home. It's actually my flat, so technically she's out and about.

So when the tailor knocked on the door yesterday morning, Lisa found herself in a state of semi-undress, and decided to answer it in her dressing gown. Obviously Next only employ the most professional couriers with the highest moral standards, so it goes without saying that the man's first words to Lisa were:

"Oooh, have I caught you at it?"

I always like to greet women I've never met by asking them if they're having sex. It's a good ice-breaker. Mind you, if I had been home from work, treating Lisa to some mid-morning lovey-doveyness (which is pretty unlikely, as she'd be watching Jeremy Kyle), I'd have been quite insulted if she'd got up to answer the door.

Anyhoo, as luck would have it, Lisa's mind was on other things (possibly the baby she'd left crying in the bedroom) and the man's question didn't really register in her consciousness. So without thinking, she said:

"Yes."

It wasn't until the courier replied with...

"Oooh, naughty naughty!"

... that Lisa realised what he'd said. Apparently the new edition of the Oxford English Dictionary is going to illustrate the word 'mortified' with a picture of Lisa's face. She still hasn't got over it now. Admittedly, by the end of the day it was probably all over Brighton that there's a nymphomaniac living in Eastern Road, but you can't worry about these things. Frankly we should just be grateful he didn't invite himself in for a threesome.