Jessica

In the early hours of Sunday morning, I had a very painful argument. A relationship of trust that had slowly been built up over the last few months suddenly disintegrated around me.

At precisely 12.21 a.m., I had an argument with my satellite navigation system.

Jessica, as I call her, had guided me safely all the way to a gig in Kingston. The traffic had been great, the evening warm, all was good. But on the way back, the little minx betrayed me. Trying to drop a fellow comic off at Liverpool Street she showed her jealousy, by:

• "Losing" satellite reception just after London Bridge
• Recalculating the route constantly - and never giving me the new route before recalculating again
• Taking me the wrong way down London Bridge, and then back up Tower Bridge - just to gloat

There was shouting, there was swearing. There was a certain amount of crying. Mostly from Jessica. I am hard, and even a machine loaded with every map in Europe cannot defeat me.

Having said that, I absolutely cannot figure out my work mobile phone.

Still, Jessica and I made up by about 12.37 when we found Whitechapel, and all was forgiven. She can be moody and controlling, but I wouldn't have Jessica any other way.