After two weeks of fun, frolics and frostbite, it was eyes down for a return to work today. Fortunately I was eased gently back into the world of retinal screening. Of the twenty-nine patients who were booked in to see me today, only seventeen turned up. I expect the others were worried they'd be forced to see my holiday snaps. In reality, the only snap on offer was the sound of my trouser button pinging across the room as my waistband gave way under the pressure of too many holiday ice creams.

Obviously I'd rather have been back on annual leave, but as it turns out, I'm not the only one whose mind is still on vacation. Driving home from St Leonards yesterday afternoon, we were just passing David Dimbleby's house, when Amelie began an episode of Question Time by asking me where we were. I told her we were in Polegate, at which point she instantly looked excited and said "Blackpoolgate?".

Having accepted that we weren't, in fact, back in Lancashire (for a start, it was far too warm), she then fell asleep, only to wake up half an hour later as I was parking the car outside our flat. As she opened her eyes, she took one look at the view from the car window, and with no prompting whatsoever, the first words out of her mouth were:

"Thank you for driving me home, Daddy."

I don't know where she gets such language. We've certainly never taught her to speak like that. I blame the grandparents.

So as a reward for being the politest little girl this side of a Swiss finishing school, I popped to the nearest charity shop at lunchtime today and bought her a Next dress for £2. I'm not sure it's the right size, but the good news is that if it needs any adjustment, I've found the perfect place to take it...


It's that traditional blend of bespoke tailoring and mobile phone unlocking. I think I'll give them a call on my stolen mobile.