On the way into town for my regular blood-letting (donor centre excitingly full of apparent first-timers; cute but kinky nurse who insisted I loved the sensation of needles puncturing my skin), a couple of things caught my eye.

The first (or rather the second) was someone in a large dog suit patrolling the street outside the Disney Store handing out leaflets of some kind. Given the hot, sunny weather and my own six months inside the giant hairy beaver, the poor person had my sympathy in lashings. But I couldn't help laughing when the six-foot St Bernard approached a two women with a child in a pram, causing the little girl to freak out completely despite her mother's best efforts to display how friendly the big doggie was. What with the guilt of scaring toddlers to death and the frustration caused by being unable to retaliate against little brats who decide to take on the big teddy in a fist-fight, the lot of the giant promotional mascot is not a happy one...

But before this, I noticed an event being promoted in the window of an Ann Summers shop on Oxford Street (current top seller, the Rampant Rabbit). Apparently 31st July has been declared National Orgasm Day. Quite what they're aiming for with this, I'm not sure. Especially given the fact that the next day, 1st August, is National Blonde Day (presumably courtesy of Reese Witherspoon).

It seems anyone can declare a National Day for something or other nowadays. Surely there must be some official vetting process. Or are all our dates now up for sale?

Maybe I should take advantage of this and declare a National Something Day myself. Any suggestions?