Friday, September the 7th is obviously best remembered as the day I got clamped by Ethical Parking Management, but prior to that blood-boiling moment in a car park, I'd been studying the bleeding obvious at the doctor's surgery, as I watched them suck a bit of plasma out of my arm.

Three weeks later, when I finally remembered to phone up for the results, my GP gave me the "very encouraging" news that I was slightly less terminal than I had been two months earlier, and suggested another blood test in November, just to keep the practice nurse in employment.

So today was the day. And I didn't park at Lisa's Mum's this time. I was, however, quizzed by Amelie before I left the flat this morning. She's recently decided that she wants to be a doctor, so she was very interested in the procedure. I explained that they'll be taking a sample of my blood, and then testing it to see if it's ok. To which she replied "And if your blood is ok, do they put it back in your arm?"

I said I'll find out when I get the results. Which should be this time next week. I'm hoping that by next Wednesday I'll have something to shout about, but in the meantime, it's Toby who's turned up the volume. For the past week he's been projecting his speaking voice like Brian Blessed at The Globe, and drowning out everyone from town criers to pneumatic drill operators. Lisa keeps telling me to film him doing one of his shout-outs, but unfortunately, every time Amelie sees the camera, she's straight in there doing a bit of baby talk herself...


Toby might find it hard to compete, but he can always make his sister laugh.