I HAVE just returned from a little trip to West Wales. I have never been to Wales before, so I was very excited - despite four of us plus bags travelling in my little car for five or so hours.

The day before we left, the Welsh fisherman, who would be taking all of us on a dolphin spotting trip, rang me to ask if I could bring with us the mooring buoy he had just bought.

of course I said yes, thinking it would be in some remote coastal town en route through Wales.

"Where is it?" I enquired.

"Oh, now wouldn't you believe it, it's near your office in Salisbury."

I rang my esteemed colleague in a minor panic: "You are going to have to pick up a mooring buoy and take it to the fisherman in your car. It will never fit in a mine, even without four adults plus bags!"

"Alright, alright, don't panic. I'll go and get it now and drive my car down to Wales too. It will be like a convoy of two. The buoy will probably be deflated anyway."

Of course it wasn't.

The following afternoon, after a break-neck speed journey in a Fiat 500 we arrived at the harbour with said buoy.

"That's a tidy little number," he said. For a split second I thought he was referring to me, until I saw him clutching his new buoy with glee.