Every time I step into the shower these days I check to see whether I have developed webbed feet.

I have been wet and dry so many times recently that I really wonder that my shoes still go on my feet without some difficulty.

I had to go to London for two meetings in the City last week and it was not an uplifting experience in any way. In the first place, in spite of many protestations by railway staff as to the accuracy or otherwise of their information, the London Bridge train had not even arrived at Brighton by the time it was due to leave for the return journey - a situation which did not fill one with great confidence as to the likelihood of getting to the first meeting on time. I had already allowed what I thought was a reasonable time cushion but by the time we were finally on our way that confidence was slowly ebbing out of my fingertips.

London Bridge was notable for a total lack of taxis and when one did appear the streets - all of which appeared to have taken a leaf out of Brighton's book and succumbed to the Demon Digger of Trenches - were not conducive to rapid transport. Worse was to come. When the meetings finally finished and we ventured forth in to the big wide world, the rain was not to be believed.

Taxis rushed past full of those lucky people who had managed to flag one down, sloshing water from the gutter over those of us who were signalling anything which looked as though it might be in business. A colleague of mine, refusing to abandon me to the elements, noble gentleman that he was, put his life at serious risk as he chased up and down the street trying to capture a cab for me. He eventually succeeded and my last sight of him was as he disappeared into the darkness giving a very passable imitation of a drowned rat. He deserved a medal.

It took me one hour and a considerable input of dosh to get to Notting Hill to my daughter's flat where I dribbled upstairs.

Then on Sunday last I went out to lunch to one of my all time favourite hostelries, The Boat House at Amberley. The food there is worth the trip to the country and in fine weather the view is superb. It is also, as the name would suggest, very close to the river. It was rather closer than usual last week. As I drove into the car park I was greeted by Mine Host giving a passable imitation of King Canute holding back the waves as there was as much water in his car park as in the river.

We clambered out of the car and were ushered into the restaurant through the kitchens. Well, at least it gave us the chance of checking out the cooking arrangements. What the chef thought about it all is not on record, probably for a very good reason!

To pile Pelion on Ossa, I was at a function at a seafront hotel later in the week, by which time my webbed feet were working overtime and the rain and the wind were so strong that even getting out of the car was an act of suicidal proportions and liable to lose you your legs as the car door attempted a swift amputation job.

I have now made an appointment with a chiropodist in an attempt to get my feel back to normal. After all, someone might give me some tights for Christmas and I would want to be able to get them on.

A very Happy Christmas to you all.