The notion that Bank Holidays see house buyers out in force does not appear to have occurred to the local agents - mine was closed. I toyed with the idea of knocking on Bernie's door, suitcase in hand, and offering to move in there and then, but thought better of it and headed towards Lincoln for an afternoon of culture with Jack.

He broke out in a sweat when I suggested the Castle, started to shake after spending 45 minutes in Ottakar's book shop, especially when I asked for directions to the Bibles ( really need to get my own instead of borrowing Nick's every time I get a Swear) and almost passed out when I led him into a saecond-hand book shop which could easily have doubled as a set from Harry Potter. He would have needed rescuscitating if I'd insisted on joining one of the Ghost Walks.

We compromised and came home via Blockbuster armed with assorted dvds and enough Minstrels to cure the gripiest of period pains. I settled down to enjoy Gael Garcia Bernal and his not-so-attractive motorcycle while Jack lay on his bed watching Flying Daggers and dreaming of Ninja Princesses.

Tomorrow is Offer Day. Are they butterflies in my stomach or have I just overdosed on chocolate?