The kangaroo killer flies in from Australia tomorrow afternoon. She'll probably suck a few geese into the jet engines as she lands, and squash a hedgehog on her way out of the car park. She spent Christmas in the Far East, so I expect she's already demolished a few sacred cows. But her trail of death and destruction ends at my parents' house in Chelmsford, so Lisa and I are off to Essex today for Christmas Part II: The Revenge.

The day's got off to a good start. For the past two hours a team of builders have been doing their best to start a new channel tunnel in one of the basement flats. Well that's what it sounds like. To be honest I'm surprised my floor hasn't collapsed, because the way they've been banging away with hammers all morning, there can't be much of the basement left. But the good thing about being forced out of bed at the crack of dawn by an incessant, deafening, booming noise three feet from your pillow, is that it gives you plenty of time to do your packing. Unfortunately I did mine yesterday, and Lisa's refusing to get up. I think she's worn out from spending all her bingo winnings in White Stuff yesterday afternoon.