I realise there's been a distinct lack of panic about whether or not Lisa, Amelie and I made it home through the treacherous ice and snow on Monday night, but for the benefit of anyone who has been worried, we're safely back in Brighton. Although the rear windscreen wiper on my car is broken. Which is annoying because I only had it serviced the week before last. I think they tampered with it in the hope of getting some repeat business.

Before leaving St Leonards on Monday, Lisa and I took advantage of the resident babysitters by popping into Hastings for some last minute gifts. It was an interesting experience. Shopping in Hastings is a lot like walking around backstage at the Jeremy Kyle show. Everyone you meet looks like the kind of person you'd cross the street to avoid. And that's just the shop assistants. The customers are even worse. Half the people in Poundland looked like they were waiting for the results of a DNA test. Possibly to find out if they're human.

Lisa and I boosted the town's class quotient for a couple of hours, but much like King Harold in 1066, we were fighting a losing battle. So as both the temperature and the sun went down, we walked back along the seafront to St Leonards, passing the White Rock Theatre, where little Jimmy Osmond is currently appearing in panto. I wondered aloud if he might be holed up at the nearby B & B, to which Lisa replied that he'd probably be staying somewhere classier. Like Eastbourne.

So I stopped photographing the boarding house, and started filming the starlings over the pier...


You'd be forgiven for thinking that's a bombed out Taliban fortress in Afghanistan, but I assure you it's Hastings Pier. Afghanistan doesn't have a coast. In all other respects they're the same. Like the reputation of much of the town, the pier's recently gone up in flames, which is bad news for tourism, but good news for makers of charcoal briquettes, who should be able to supply next summer's barbecue market with room to spare.

The music I added to that video is 'Going South' by Nina Gordon (I do like to plug my own websites), which seemed like an appropriate song to accompany such a wintry scene on the south coast. The opening line is "The wind blows through the snow on your roof". Which would be quite fitting if the pier still had one.

Anyhoo, having got back on Monday night, I was busy doing numerous jobs yesterday. Mainly because the flat was so cold that if I sat still for more than five minutes, I developed hypothermia. Whilst in St Leonards, Lisa fell in love with my parents' electric blanket, so having had a frosty reception back in Brighton, and spent one night in the cold comfort of our freezing bed, I was duly despatched to Argos yesterday for one of our own. And it was well worth the money. It worked for a good half hour before it packed up completely and refused to come back on.

But looking on the bright side, I probably wouldn't have had any fresh air at all today if I hadn't had to go all the way back to Argos this morning for a replacement. And nothing makes you appreciate a new electric blanket like going out in the freezing cold. Lisa's testing it as we speak. She's been gone for an hour, so I think it must be working.