Come the evening, we could barely keep a conversation flowing. Lisa was out like a light, and I was kept up all night because of her snoring. The next night was no better – it sounded like she was choking on something. Ouch! Oh well, it’s not every day I get to see the girl. In fact it’s been two years. The last time Lisa visited, we took her to Brighton. The time before that, I dragged her along to a test match (that’s cricket). This time, she experienced her first kebab but none of that greasy crap dripping with fat and red chilli sauce with too many E-numbers. No, this was an authentic Turkish kebab, freshly prepared on the premises, finely cut and very lean. And the girl was impressed. Result!

Now the thing with not getting enough sleep is the tendency to become a bit lazy. You end up doing the kind of things, which require minimal effort (both thinking and physical-wise), hence why the pair of us found it difficult to unglue ourselves from the sofa on Saturday morning because we were having too much fun watching Dick & Dom In Da Bungalow. It’s not really a television programme for kids, not after it’s started to gain cult status for its juvenile pranks with a couple of presenters who are approaching 30 (one of whom is actually married). But try watching it for 5 minutes and you’ll be hooked. It’s so daft, it’s so funny…oh God, it’s actually really good, I’m ashamed to say. My favourite is a sketch with the pair as Diddy Dick and Diddy Dom. It’s so funny! Yes, really!

Oh! Before I forget, I’ve just got to show you a couple of photos of the England cricket team parading through the streets of London after clinching the Ashes with a somewhat anti-climax of a finish. I told you we were heading for a draw, didn’t I? But my word, was it dull!

Any way, I happened to be in the vicinity of Trafalgar Square last week and like any good journalist, had my camera handy so I got a few snaps of Freddie Flintoff, Michael Vaughan and that strange bloke whose hairstyle looks as if a seagull shat on him. Pietersen. That’s him. Lapping it up big time. I’m reliably informed the shirt he is sporting is available from all good TK Maxx stores around the country. How? Why? Well our resident man-ho Michael possesses an identical shirt. He’s normally a man with impeccable taste in clothes. So he’s forgiven on this occasion for making a fashion faux-pas.

Speaking of fashion, anyone bothering to keep up with supermodel Kate Moss shoving too much gak up her nostrils? There’s a rumour on some gossip sites that the father of her child is actually Jude Law. Wouldn’t surprise me if the recent tabloid tales of her frolicking with him and (what-is-she-famous-for-again?) ex-wife Sadie Frost are true. Yuck! You’d think with her fame and fortune, Kate could have her pick of anyone but no, she goes for a bunch of useless and dull nobodies from Primose Hill! If it fills the pages of Heat magazine, I suppose…

While we’re on the subject of gossip magazines, did anyone give into temptation and purchase a copy of OK! magazine with Jordan plastered all over it? I know she’s used to spreading herself about but this time that took on a whole new meaning with her delightful wedding pictures featuring Peter Andre as her new husband and about five z-list celebrities. We think Jordan (sorry, Katie Price) looked rather stunning in her dress, Which looked like a toilet roll cover. Less fairy tale princess, more bog standard. Still, I guess it’s fitting for the new Mrs Andrex. Oh boom boom!

Speaking of fashion (again), I bought a new hat. It’s a trilby and it rocks. Hard. I’ve worn it twice already, which brings it up to the same number of outings as the infamous red trilby. I still want another. I want one in black, dammit. My quest goes on…