Well, let's face it, just about EVERYWHERE is lovely when the sun is shining... And today was particularly lovely. Just the right sort of weather to be drinking Pimms on a back patio with Ms Jones. Definitely not the right sort of weather to be heaving bits of Ikea flatpack around a bedroom with Mr Jones.

Nonetheless, being the staunch sort of friend he is, Mr Young chose to do the latter, while I chose to keep Ms Jones company. We'd taken Archie with us so that he could play with the Jones' dog, Monty, and the two of them luxuriated in a canine heaven, lolloping through the grass together, stealing sausages and sniffing each other's bottoms.

Mr Jones and Mr Young took nearly two hours to construct the wardrobe, which, spookily, was exactly the amount of time that it took Ms Jones and myself to de-construct a carefully assembled jug of cucumber, mint and Pimms.

We caught a dog-friendly taxi home around ten o'clock and Archie and I fell asleep on the bed upstairs while Mr Young fell asleep in front of the football on the TV. Really, life doesn't get much better than this, does it?

Sunday

Morning: As the sun was still shining, I took the big step of getting my summer clothes out and putting my winter clothes away. This probably sounds a lot grander than it actually was, involving mothballs, boot-stretchers and suit carriers; in reality, it just meant shoving some cardigans into a Sainsbury's bag and lobbing it to the back of the wardrobe. Not very Sex In The City. But then you never see them in H&M cardies do you?

Afternoon: Unfortunately, no one seems to have explained to our new puppy that his role in our household is to keep Mr Young fit with daily walks. He has plenty of energy when it comes to running away with stray underwear (Archie, that is, not Mr Young), but when it comes to a bracing stroll, he shows about as little enthusiasm as Gordon Brown when faced with a dinner invitation from Cherie Blair.

This afternoon, Archie kept his eyes closed and all four legs stiff as we spent half an hour dragging him through the grass down by the river. Other dogs and their owners bounced cheerfully past in the sunshine as we pulled along 40lbs of inert canine muscle, for all the world like a furrily unseasonable sled.

"He wouldn't be like this if he was chasing a pair of your pants", I said to Mr Young. "Perhaps we should tie some to a stick and hold it in front of his nose?"

Tuesday

Sadly, my faithful reader, this is my last column. Whether the ET has got something more exciting for you, or whether the editor has just finally had enough of my pedantic prose, you'll just have to wait until next Saturday to find out.

Of course, not all of you will be thumping your fists onto your Ikea worktop with disappointment as you read this; right now, for instance, Mr Young is off in a quiet corner somewhere, whistling happily to himself, secure in the belief that he can behave as ridiculously as he likes from now on. His exploits will no longer be documented in black and white for Peterborough to laugh at every weekend.

Or so he thinks. Drop in at www.sofadiaries.co.uk and keep up with his hilarious escapades. Just between you and me, I won't be letting him get away with a thing.