Fingers on the pulse

Mrs Nunn marched round the apartment with the pace of someone who's misplaced their winning lottery ticket. Or someone a bit loopy. Except she literally marched around the apartment. Seven or eight times.

"What are you doing, Mum?"

"I'm speed walking."

"Sorry?"

"I'm speed walking. I've done no exercise since I've been here."

"But you're inside. And wearing a floral dress."

"It's hot outside."

"And the dress?"

"Shut up."

Mrs Nunn is a little bit... unusual.

Still shopping till we're dropping here in Florida. I've depleted the sunshine state of most of its footwear, and most of its Clinique supplies, and the plan is to head north to Georgia tomorrow.

I went for a manicure yesterday. Those of you who know me, stop laughing. A) I stopped biting my nails well over two years ago, and B) I'm occasionally allowed to do girly things. Sometimes I even wear pink.

Still, what amused me most was that my manicurist was required by law to display a certificate signed by Jeb Bush - governor of Florida, and, as you'll probably know, no stranger to Dubya. Two things here:

• Thing one: does Jeb really have nothing better to do than enforce proper legislation of people who colour in fingernails for a living?
• Thing two: do you think his real name is "Jed" but he kept getting the last letter the wrong way round until he decided it was probably easier to change it? My understanding is that smarts don't run in the family.