Daughter spent the last week of the holidays attending one of the council's sports programmes.

This was a new venture for daughter who doesn't really do sports - unless it's shopping for new trainers or an Adidas top.

She does have obligatory PE lessons at school and hasn't quite worked out how to dodge them yet - unlike her mother who was much more inventive.

This week was tennis week so she went off every morning swinging her racquet and seemed to have enjoyed herself.

It's back to school on Thursday and for once I have actually been organised and everything is ready. Although, I shall probably remember the night before that something essential has not had its name tag sewn on.

These holidays seem to have flown by without me seeing much of her as she has been out and about with friends a lot.

Her Dad finally relented and agreed she was old enough to go into town on her own so she went shopping with a friend. She had her survival kit, insisted upon by us, with her mobile phone and plenty of spare change.

She declined the two-way radio and street map of Brighton and nodded with amusement when I gave her instructions about where they could and couldn't go.

I insisted: "Send me a text message when you get there just so I don't worry." "Yes", she sighed.

She sent me a message so I sent her a few back - just to check she was OK.

"Where r u now", "why haven't u answered me", "I am just checking your phone is still working", "r u there?", "R U THERE?" (You see, I can do all the proper lingo).

I was just getting worried and regretting letting her go at all when I received a message from her saying: "Stop sending me text messages. Am in the middle of McDonald's and it is really embarrassing because my phone keeps going off and the lady at the next table is getting fed up with it - u r sad."

I managed to behave myself after that.

I myself had some fun this week with my friends as we went to the racetrack on Race Hill.

In all the years I have been in Brighton I have never been there and have obviously been missing something quite exciting.

Usually, the closest I get to any race horses is watching them being exercised while I taking the dog for a walk up Sheepcote valley.

It was actually incredibly good fun. Of course, I had to do it the girly way by picking a horse because its jockey was the best-looking one.

Alternatively, if the horse itself is really pretty you can pick it that way. Go to the tote and say "Hello I want to bet on a horse but I don't know how to fill in a betting slip".

The nice people then help you with your 50p bet while seasoned punters with large bundles of £20 notes look on tolerantly.

Then you go and stand in the grandstand and cheer your horse on, which is really exciting. This system obviously works as two of my horses won. Unfortunately though, the other two didn't so I just about broke even.

Still it was great fun and I need to go again as I obviously have the McCall family gambling genes after all.

My uncle Barney was a serious racing man and known to attend race meetings weekly.

The most famous story about him was that he once won more than £5,000 but regrettably left the stadium at the end of the afternoon without the shirt on his back.