If there's one thing I've learnt about life, it's to expect the unexpected. One moment you're filming a nice video of your cat sleeping peacefully on a chair. The next, this happens...


I think I'm living in some kind of surreal fairytale world where Red Riding Hood has taken up plumbing, and my cat's the Big Bad Wolf.

Anyhoo, she might be driving me around the u-bend, but Amelie's not the only one plunging at the moment. Her neckline is too...


It's hair up and dress down in the Gardner household today. Lisa's given Amelie a cute little ponytail. It makes it a lot easier to spot chickenpox on the back of her neck.

On that subject, if your poxy little family is infected with a highly contagious herpes virus, there are basically two courses of action open to you. Either you can lock yourself indoors and impose strict quarantine conditions until it passes, to avoid spreading the disease amongst the vulnerable. Or you can head straight out to a large social gathering and spend two hours in a confined space with dozens of people, in the hope of wiping out half of Brighton. Lisa and I opted for the latter.

One of my work colleagues got married yesterday (having previously been married to her job), and as luck would have it, we were invited to the reception party in the evening. We responded by inviting Lisa's Mum around here to babysit, and she in turn invited a friend of hers over to keep her company on the sofa. And I thought it was only teenage babysitters who did that.

The invitation stated that the party was to take place "from 6pm", so I suggested we arrive at about quarter past, so as not to miss any free food on offer. Lisa responded by telling me that I know nothing about weddings, and that no one would get there before seven-thirty. It turned out she was wrong. And I'd have told her so, if I hadn't been so weak with hunger.

So while the rest of the medical photography department were snapping up shots of whisky and dissecting slabs of cake, Lisa and I were struggling to get Amelie to bed over the sound of two pensioners reminiscing about the good old days. We eventually rolled up to the venue about eight. By which time the sausage rolls had rolled off the tongues of the guests, and straight down their throats.

But it wasn't an entirely wasted journey. The party was held at the 'Latest Music Bar' - an oddly named venue, as most of the songs they played dated back to the 70s - and within five seconds of walking through the door and announcing myself as a party guest, I'd been handed a free glass of champagne.

Unfortunately I'd walked into the wrong party. The one we'd been invited to was downstairs. It's just a shame my colleague pointed out my mistake before I had a chance to help myself to their buffet.