April 30

Rachel and I were in court all day yesterday as she was a witness to a fight between two parents at her school last year. I sat in the public gallery while Rachel waited in the seating area downstairs. Sitting just along from me was the husband of the defendant. As the charge was being read out, he tried to turn his phone off and it went off noisily - not a great start. All the witnesses seemed to have seen something different, or were just lying through their teeth, and the magistrates ended up aquitting the defendant as the evidence was so convoluted. Rachel sat next to me at the back of the court after giving her evidence and we waited for the magistrates to return their verdict. We tried to guess whether it would be guilty or not guilty, a bit like trying to second-guess Sir Alan in the boardroom. OK, hardly like that at all. The security guard in the entrance to the court was a dead ringer for Ricky Tomlinson. Along with the Sainsbury's one who is Peter Kay in Pheonix Nights, who knows how many more TV comedian lookalikes there are in Chichester.

Went to the Post Office as Rachel needed some stamps. We decided to use the self-service hole-in-the-wall outside, which offers stamps 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I didn't think anyone went out for stamps at 2am.

There was a Filofax in House of Fraser which cost £50. I thought this was excessive, especially as it was for 2008.

April 28

Everyone's going mental about swine flu. I don't know that much about it, just that people are dying in Mexico but not the US. Apparently it could reach Britain at some point and the WHO (not the band) are close to declaring a pandemic. That's a new word to me, I might look it up later but for now I'd like to point out it has the word 'panic' hidden at either end. That sums it up really.

April 27

Walked to the Post Office in town. As I made my way to the self-service machines, a woman standing at the parcel window shouted at the top of her voice: "Is there any chance I could get some help here?!" A bemused assistant said she would be over in just a minute, to which the woman replied loudly: "Thank goodness for that, I can't stand here much longer." She was so old she probably meant it literally.

April 25

Helped a couple of friends move house yesterday. The previous occupant had been a really old woman, who had a big mirror hung on one wall in the lounge. I don't know why an old person would want to look at themselves that much, they should just have loads of photos of themselves from when they were younger. If you look old, don't bother with mirrors. Maybe the Chinese go by this rule too.

Tried to re-assemble an IKEA wardrobe in the main bedroom, with limited success. Managed to attach the sides to the base and then the lid, before deciding to try and turn the whole thing 90 degrees so it lay on its side. With one side only held in place by wood glue and the other decidedly wobbly, the descent began in precarious fashion. Where eight hands were needed, we only had four and the wardrobe began to gain excess momentum. The glue did not hold and the base came unstuck. Then the side I was holding began to bend, there was a loud cracking and most of the wardrobe fell to the floor. The next question was: "which part of the dump do we take this to, wood or non-wood?"

I've never understood the concept of 'Miss Universe'. Miss World, fair enough, but I don't know who else is taking part.

April 24

Returned to the doctors yesterday to order a repeat prescription. The man at the front of the queue said he urgently needed to make an appointment. The receptionist said there weren't any for two weeks so he said "forget it," and stormed out. Not that urgent, then.

Woke up and tested my blood sugar - a perfect 10.0 to start the day. Well, not perfect as I'm aiming for below seven. Ate two imitation Weetabix (Tesco own brand) for breakfast and set off for the diabetes clinic, where I had an appointment at 8am. We talked about Sir Steve Redgrave, who also has diabetes, and managed to win five Olympic golds. I walked home from the clinic in 15 minutes flat. Got to start somewhere.

April 21

I have diabetes.

Four days ago, I had no idea and was headed to my local GP for an appointment which I thought would be routine. Having tested my blood sugar levels - which showed up as being 23 (ideally it should be between four and seven) - the doctor looked worried and asked if I could provide a urine sample. The toilet was at the other end of the corridor, and if anyone had been walking the other way as I made my return journey, there would have been no place to hide. As it was, the sample served only as further proof that diabetes was the most likely cause of my recent weight loss and extreme thirst, and it was next stop St Richard's Hospital.

As we walked through the corridors of the hospital I spotted two huge stone figures - some sort of artistic sculpture. They looked miserable. No-one smiles in hospitals anyway, so they could have made a bit more of an effort to cheer the patients up a bit. We reached the Medical Assessment Unit (MAU) and I was sat on a bed for blood tests, an ECG and that awful needle in the arm thing, later to be linked to a drip. With my only previous stay in hospital - to have my wisdom teeth removed - occurring eight years ago and lasting just a few hours, I felt I was making up for lost time. A nurse came round to offer hot drinks - I asked for a coffee with one sugar. A bad start. I was wheeled down the corridor for a chest x-ray, and when I returned it was steak pie for dinner. This time I had a sweetener in my coffee.

After spending almost all day in the MAU, I was transferred to Petworth Ward. Again I was in a wheelchair, having to push my drip trolley alongside me. One of its five wheels got stuck every few metres so I felt more like a contestant on Beat The Star than a hospital patient. Several minutes and more than one narrow door later, we reached the ward. There were seven others on the ward, including a bodybuilder with swollen legs. He snored loudly all night which made sleeping - already hindered by having to test my blood sugar every two hours - pretty much impossible. The next morning, the bloke next to him asked him how he was doing. "Hardly slept a wink all night," said the bodybuilder. Brilliant.

I stayed in Petworth for two nights before suddenly being told my bed was needed. I was wheeled off once more, this time to Chilgrove ward, in a much newer, much quieter corner of the hospital. This time there were just six of us on the ward, with all the others awaiting operations and taking all sorts of painkillers and other medication. As I sat in bed No 6, feeling in the best health of my life with only a blood sugar meter telling me otherwise, I felt rather the odd one out, and distinctly resentful of the drip trolley which I had to drag everywhere with me - to the toilet, to the TV room, to the other side of the bed. However, the longer I chatted to the others on the ward - about their kidney disease, their heart attacks, their cancer - the more I realised I was being utterly selfish and that my deal was really not quite so bad after all. I have umpteen routines that I perform unthinkingly every day already - why should a couple of insulin injections inconvenience me any more?

There was a fat man in bed No 3 who did nothing but sleep. He snored loudly most of the day and even more loudly at night - yes, worse than the bodybuilder. As I struggled to get off to sleep, I exchanged exasperated glances with the bloke opposite me in bed No 1. He was in for an operation on his shoulder following a mountain biking injury, and apart from the incessant snoring in bed No 3, he couldn't sleep because of the searing pain running down his arm. I too was wide awake, having drunk yet another cup of coffee not so long ago.

A nurse came round in the morning to take our breakfast orders. I asked for two pieces of brown toast with Marmite. She brought one brown piece and one white, with jam and marmalade.

The fat man finally sat up in bed, having slept for approximately 16 hours. He was reading something so I glanced over to see what it was. It was the lunch menu.

I left hospital on Monday evening. In some senses I felt a totally different person to the one that arrived at the doctors surgery on Friday morning. I will now test my blood sugar and inject insulin every day for the rest of my life. I will read the labels on the back of tins, packets and bottles so I know exactly what I'm putting into my body. I can never drive a minibus. On the other hand, though, diabetes is not a restrictive condition - there are no foods I cannot eat (leaving my nut allergy to one side for the sake of this point), no activities I cannot do, no places I cannot go. I had diabetes before Friday - I just didn't know it. I am now wiser and therefore safer. Bring on the rest of my life.

April 16

Nipped out to Tesco for a few pizza toppings. On the way out, I saw a bloke entering the store, carrying a microwave under one arm. I tried to work out what on earth he was doing, but then gave up.

A woman was power-walking to her car, holding a bunch of flowers. She was holding them upside down and the petals were dropping onto the tarmac as she walked. If the flowers cost £5, she must have lost 50p worth by the time she got to her car.

I needed to book a doctors appointment so walked round to the surgery, which is only ten minutes from the flat. The old woman in front of me was booking a blood test and taking a fairly long time over it. The receptionist asked her if Friday was OK, and she said yes. The receptionist asked if 8.55 was OK, and the old woman said she would prefer a later slot. "How about 9.10?" the receptionist suggested. "That would be great," said the old woman. I wonder what was so important that it was keeping her at home for the extra 15 minutes. Having booked my appointment, I turned to go and saw a traffic warden at the back of the queue. That was the last person I expected to see.

April 15

Made my first ever visit to IKEA. It's massive, and the restaurant is the first thing you come to - it should be the last. In the bathroom department, there was a sink twice the width of a normal one, with two sets of taps and an extra-wide mirror on the wall. Maybe it had been designed especially for conjoined twins.

April 13

For dessert on Easter Sunday, there were two tubs of Häagen-Dazs ice cream on the table alongside a cheesecake. One was labelled 'Dulce de Leche', so I asked why the flavour wasn't written in English. "Because it's a foreign flavour," I was told. Fair enough, except the other tub was labelled 'Belgian Chocolate'. Since then, I've discovered that Dulce de Leche translates as 'milk jam'. I'm glad I didn't have any.

Bumped into Portsmouth FC midfielder Hayden Mullins at a BP petrol station. He was wearing a grey tracksuit and bought a baguette.

April 11

Went to Spring Harvest in Minehead. All the talks were delivered from a big stage, with sign language available for the deaf. This seemed a really good idea, until I noticed that the words for the songs were up on the huge screens at either side of the stage. No need for both.

Watched a TV programme about disabled people who trekked across the Sahara, or something. The group split into those who had been disabled all their lives and those who had become disabled. One of the men had fingers instead of arms and played pool with his feet. The next morning, I was thinking about the programme when I noticed a boy with one arm that ended at the elbow. I was fascinated until I walked past him and saw he was just scratching his back.

A woman was carrying a baby in one of those slings. As she ran, the baby's head rolled from side to side and bounced up and down. I thought that's why pushchairs were invented.

April 3

Caught the train up to Putney yesterday, a good opportunity to read the paper - full of the G20 summit (front 12 pages) and World Cup qualifiers (back 11 pages). Spent an enjoyable day watching ESPN Classic, losing the World Cup semi-final as Spain on Pro Evolution Soccer and seeing two bizarres get ejected from the Slug & Lettuce. I did travel up to see a friend, in case you're thinking I did all this alone. My train home was formed of eight coaches, and would divide at Horsham. This reminded me of space shuttles, where the orbiter vehicle makes the useful journey into space while the tank and boosters simply fall away and serve no further purpose once separate from the shuttle. I travelled in the front four coaches, headed for Chichester and Portsmouth. The rear four continued to Bognor Regis.

April 1

Went for a meal at Las Iguanas last night. Not many restaurants have such a good name, so I began to look into the characteristics of iguanas. Apparently they have excellent eyesight which helps them see through crowded areas as well as finding food. Both good qualities for a waitress to have. They use visual symbols to communicate with members of the same species. This is helpful as restaurants are noisy places. Finally, they are very good at hiding. We waited ages for our table to be cleared, just as our car parking ticket was racking up another hour in the multi-storey.

Saw a bloke in the street selling those bubble guns you fill with washing-up liquid. His sales technique was to stand there looking bored and blow bubbles around, willy-nilly. I assumed that only the stupidest people would be convinced into buying one as they walked through town. Ten seconds later I spotted a fat man in a grubby vest holding one of the bubble guns and blowing bubbles into the face of his baby son from point-blank range. I felt my assumption was justified.

Business was booming at the sandwich shop and the queue was a fair length. Immediately behind me was a very impatient old man who kept tutting and looking through the glass. Eventually the person being served emerged from the shop with his food, only to be accosted by the old fellow. "I've been queueing for 15 minutes," he said. "What are they doing in there?" I don't know what sort of answer he expected. He gave up waiting and walked off.