Sunday was of course Mother’s Day, and what better way to spend it than at Hove Greyhound Stadium, watching what appeared to be the offspring of an ungodly union between a yeti and a dish mop?

Entry to the lunchtime races is always free on a Sunday, and this weekend was no exception, but what marked this day out from the usual twelve race card was the addition of ‘The Mother’s Day Afghan Trophy,’ a one-lap race for Afghan Hounds.

Prince Harry can only dream of spending the day with a bunch of Afghans, but for me and my girlfriend it was the perfect afternoon out. Sadly my mother couldn’t make it, but she lives in Essex, so in a sense she’s already gone to the dogs.

The build-up to the arrival of the A-Team (that’s A for Afghan) included a dozen standard greyhound races, featuring dogs with names such as Wigwam Woman, Buzz Lightyear and Fizzy Nectar, plus owners like The Maroon Baboons and the Group Hug Syndicate. The grandstand was packed with mothers and their families, all of whom seemed to be having a lot more luck than I was, so having lost my cheap charity shop shirt on the first twelve races, I made my way outside for the main event on the card: The 2008 Mother’s Day Afghan Trophy. Which really ought to be sponsored by the Taliban, but isn’t.

I must admit, we'd been standing by the track for ages, looking to the left for signs of dog hair flapping in the breeze, only to realise at the last moment that the Afghans were approaching from the other direction, and were, in fact, right behind us. The way they creep up on you, it's no wonder Harry wasn't safe.

But before we knew it, the robot rabbit was released, and six hairy hounds began lolloping around the track after a day-glo bunny. I haven't laughed so much in years. And I'm still not sure how they managed to stuff them all into the starting traps - one of them was the size of a horse. Well, a Shetland Pony. In a wig.

The eventual winner was an Afghan named India, but for me the star of the show was Zak. He was described on the race card as "always consistent and guaranteed to finish". Unfortunately Zak hadn’t read the race card and, having gone halfway around the track in last place, he decided to give up, hop over the fence, and start frolicking about on the grass, waiting for someone to throw him a stick. Not quite the model of consistency we were promised.

You had to admire his tactics, though. Having sat out most of the contest on the other side of the stadium, acting like he was down the park on a Sunday afternoon, the race eventually finished and the rabbit came back around to where Zak was standing. At which point he jumped on it. I see that as a moral victory. The judges saw it as more of a disqualification. It's all a matter of opinion.

Ultimately though, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen Afghan Racing first-hand. The whole event was top quality entertainment, and the funniest thing I've seen outside of an episode of You've Been Framed. Bring on the camel racing for Father’s Day, that’s what I say.

The 2008 Brighton Science Festival, which began on Saturday (February 23), comprises nine days of science-themed events, from physics demonstrations and maths debates to three nights of cabaret at the Joogleberry - and you don’t have to be a Star Trek fan or a computer geek to get involved. Although it probably helps. Personally I know more about potato chips than silicon chips, but that didn’t stop me attending a free workshop on Monday evening entitled ‘Can Robots Love?’.

Anyone expecting a night of passion with Metal Mickey may have gone away disappointed, but the event turned out to be a fascinating discussion on robot ethics. You know you've had a good evening when you meet a woman who’s brainwashed a dog, someone who's had a relationship with a mobility scooter, and a lady from the Czech Republic who talks to her pet robot. And that was just the audience.

The evening was led by a young lady called Claire Rocks (which is more of a description than a name). Claire has a PhD in Space Robotics and was involved with the Beagle 2 Mars probe. Her achievements seemed all the more galling as she looked young enough to be my daughter. But still, Beagle 2 crashed, so I shouldn't feel inferior.

Claire and her friends had come all the way from the Science Communication Unit at the University of the West of England, which for anyone without a degree in Geography, is in Bristol. I had been expecting them to tell us about robot love, but as it turned out, the audience were the stars of this show. We were seated in groups as we went in, each group was given two envelopes, and our mission was to watch a film clip, open an envelope, and then read the contents aloud. It was a lot like Oscar night, but without the tears.

Our first clip was the scene from ‘Artificial Intelligence’ where the mother programs her robot son, and the contents of our envelope read:

“Can a robot love? Can a robot be loved? What does love mean in this context?”

That prompted one member of our group to announce that she'd managed to imprint her ex-boyfriend's dog, but refused to tell us how she did it. I thought that was a bit odd until she went on to talk of her love for mobility scooters, and the fact that she has a closer relationship with her current one (which is apparently female and a bit of a madam) than she has with a lot of humans.

I looked to the Czech lady to my right for something more sensible, and she responded by turning to me, smiling, and saying that she keeps a pet robot in the living room where all the family can talk to it. After five minutes, my girlfriend was making the most sense (what are the odds?) and I was feeling a bit of a freak for not having a pet name for my car.

But we covered the three questions in about ten minutes - whenI mentioned that I love my girlfriend more than my cat, she said "thanks" in a sarcastic voice. I also had an argument with a scientist about when the internet was invented. At which point we moved on to film clip number two: a scene from ‘Blade Runner’. This time our question was...

“Would robots have sexual rights and who would determine what these rights are?”

I'm not sure if this was an over-18s event or not, but having sat in a circle with six strangers for ten minutes discussing bestiality, rape, murder and porn, I'm hoping there weren't any children present. Especially when my girlfriend said that if she wants to abuse her robot, she should be allowed to. I've cancelled my plans to buy her a Furby. As for me, I was obviously far too vocal on the subject of robot sex, and was duly nominated as our official spokesperson, meaning that I had to report our findings back to the rest of the room. I felt like the Alfred Kinsey of the 21st century.

My girlfriend and I clearly made quite an impression (it's not easy to discuss robot ethics confidently from a position of complete ignorance), and were specially selected afterwards to be interviewed by a member of the team about our experience. We told her we'd both enjoyed it, and then proved it by heading to the nearest branch of Subway and continuing to argue about the rights of robots for 20 minutes. I'm not sure machines will ever replace humans, but I think a robot would have given me more cheese in my sandwich.

I’ve changed a lot since I moved to Brighton. A few years ago I thought the only decent art produced in the last fifty years was the picture of a tennis girl scratching her bum. But having grown accustomed to wandering the city’s free exhibitions, I now find myself in the position of actually liking modern art. Some of it anyway. I’m still not sure about pickled sheep. But I spent Saturday afternoon at the Phoenix Gallery in Waterloo Place for the opening of their new exhibition 'Everyday Anomalies', which runs until March 22nd, and I have to say I loved it. It was like Tate Modern crossed with Candid Camera.

The exhibition features the work of four artists from Hong Kong, all of whom had flown in especially to meet me. Well, me and anyone else who turned up for the opening. The gallery laid on free Chinese food, but it was the complimentary wine which seemed to prove more popular. Frankly it was a miracle anyone was still standing by the end.

As for the art, I liked Kwan Sheung-Chi's sculpture of an apple core made from a used apple juice carton, while his attempt to recreate a swatted mosquito out of his own hair and blood was very amusing too. Then there was his video installation 'Meteor Shower’, which has to be viewed by getting down on your knees and looking through a tiny hole in the floor. He said afterwards that he likes to stand in front of the hole so that people look like they're bowing down to him.

Kam Lai Wan presented three works about stars, the most ingenious of which was 'Sound of Stars'. She said she'd wanted to know what stars might sound like, so she'd taken numerous musical boxes and pressed the pattern of a constellation onto each cylinder, so that when you turn the handle, it plays a tune based purely on the position of the stars. I loved that idea.

But not as much as I loved the work of Luke Ching, who appeared to be trying to fill the shoes of Jeremy Beadle in a very literal sense. Luke's art involved walking through a crowded shopping centre with fifteen-foot-long shoelaces, while a friend filmed people's attempts to avoid tripping over them. It was accompanied by his video, 'Moon', in which he bought helium balloons in Toys R Us and pretended to accidentally let them go in the middle of the mall, watching them float two hundred feet up into the roof, before asking security guards if they had a long pole he could borrow. It's work Beadle would have been proud of.

For me though, the star of the show was Pak Sheung-Chuen. If all modern art was as brilliantly and amusingly inspired as his, I'd be tempted to become the new Charles Saatchi. His film ‘Breathing House’ documented the ten days he spent inflating plastic bags and stuffing them into his apartment until the entire flat contained nothing but his own breath (which is either art or mental illness), but Pak also told us the story behind his work 'Familiar Numbers, Unknown Telephone'. Apparently he'd walked past a bus stop in Hong Kong which featured the four route numbers 91, 91M, 92 and 96R. So naturally he decided to go home and dial those eight digits into his telephone. The result is a 3-minute recording of some bloke saying "How did you get my number?" and "What do you mean it was on a bus stop?" in a slightly panicked voice.

My personal highlight of the exhibition, however, was Pak's ingenious work with till receipts. In 'Love Letter for LC', he'd bought four books, the first word of each title being (in Chinese) 'I', 'Am', 'Thinking of' and 'You'. He'd then framed the till receipt and given it to his girlfriend. If that's not sweet, I don't know what is. I’ll be heading straight to Waterstone’s on Thursday.

Pak's 'Miracle of $136.70' took the concept one stage further. He'd managed to find eight grocery items in the local supermarket which were named such that when put through the checkout in the correct order, the second word of each item formed the Bible verse John 3:16, "Whoever believes in him shall have eternal life". I tried to do the same at Asda the next day, but I didn't want to buy 'I Can't Believe It's Not Butter' just for the sake of religious art.

Ultimately though, the most refreshing aspect of the afternoon was just how down to earth the artists were. All were friendly, likeable and completely unassuming. Asked by one of the visitors if it’s hard to get into art school in Hong Kong, Kwan Sheung-Chi replied with one word: “No”. You can’t get any more unpretentious than that.

Ever since October, when my girlfriend accidentally kicked the balls of a Japanese artist at Brighton Museum’s ‘Indigo’ exhibition, I’ve had a newfound appreciation for the art of our sushi-eating cousins. Although if they’re going to use polystyrene balls, they really should stick them to the floor. So the new exhibition which opened last week at Hove Museum seemed right up my street. Entitled ‘East Weaves West’, it features the work of more than fifty British and Japanese basket-makers, and runs until the end of April.

If you thought basket-weaving was only for pensioners and the mentally ill, then you’d be wrong. Although admittedly some of the items on show are a bit surreal. One of them looks like a giant pretzel, which is a bit off-putting when you’ve just skipped breakfast and would kill for a bag of nuts. As it turned out, there’s a lot more than just basketry on display, and whilst the exhibits might have been woven together with the common thread of basket-making, the exhibition actually takes in everything from abstract art and intricate models to handbags and fish-catching equipment.

Most of the items on display are for sale, so it's not so much an exhibition as a car boot sale, which is probably why I enjoyed it so much. Doing the Brits proud were the likes of Polly Pollock (who sounds like a character from Finding Nemo), with her giant piece of coral made out of cane, and Joanna Gilmour’s beautiful woven sculptures, ‘Flycatcher’ and ‘Darwin’s Baskets 2’, but as for the handbag made of oak branches, I felt that was a step too far. My girlfriend's bag is heavy enough as it is.

Then there was the work of Laura Street (I think I've lived there), who rejects traditional fibres in favour of old newspapers. A lot of her art resembled the contents of my recycling bin, but I have to say it was quite inspiring to see what can be created out of the most mundane of materials, and it did make me feel like rushing home to plait something out of last week's Sun. It makes a refreshing change for the tabloids to have their words twisted.

As for the Japanese contributions, the museum blurb talks of "cultural comparisons and fascinating contrasts", which is very true. After all, when did you last hear of an Englishman weaving an eel trap out of bamboo? But that’s exactly what’s on offer, courtesy of Kazuo Hiroshima. It's like a condom for congas. Although to be honest it looked more like a baseball bat crossed with a bit of corn on the cob. It’s just one of a number of fish traps created by Kazuo, so he’s one artist who’ll never go hungry.

Other, more abstract, pieces had been fashioned out of materials such as walnut bark and hair moss, but if anyone wants to buy me a gift, I was most taken with the work of Noriko Takamiya, who specializes in small sculptures made from apparently endless strips of paper. The museum are displaying three pieces from his ‘Revolving’ series. It’s hard to imagine how Noriko created them without succumbing to repetitive strain injury, but staring in wonder at the tightly wound creations and trying to picture the miles of paper involved, my main question was just how many bonsai trees he had to fell.

With the Christmas party season now over, it’s probably safe to say that half the population have worn a little black dress at some point over the past few weeks, so after the success of their Indigo denim display, Brighton Museum & Art Gallery have moved on from jeans to party frocks with an exhibition dedicated to the Little Black Dress. Yes indeed, forget the Battle of Hastings and World War II, what museums really need to be documenting is the history of Victoria Beckham's clothes.

The exhibition is curated by leading fashion designer Andrew Fionda, who has dressed the likes of Nicole Kidman and Celine Dion. Although his greater claim to fame is that he lives around the corner from me. Andrew has gathered together such a wide range of black outfits that you feel like you're walking into a funeral for mannequins. Admittedly I wouldn't spend half an hour wandering through the dress department of Next (no matter how much my girlfriend begs me), but this is historical art, so it was actually quite enjoyable.

The event charts the history of the little black dress, from its origins as a response to fabric shortages in the First World War, through its promotion by Coco Chanel in the 1920s and its booming popularity at 1950s cocktail parties, right up to its modern day role launching the career of Elizabeth Hurley. Outfits by the likes of Bruce Oldfield, Zandra Rhodes and Nicole Farhi are on display, plus a few dresses worn by international style icons such as Joan Collins, Joanna Lumley and... um...Dave Lynn.

As for Victoria Beckham, her contribution to the exhibition is a Julien MacDonald creation she was pictured wearing in her literary tour-de-force (well, picture book) ‘That Extra Half an Inch’. In addition to dressing Kylie Minogue and Naomi Campbell, Julien MacDonald also designed the British Airways flight attendants’ uniforms, which is probably what Posh would be wearing if she hadn’t joined the Spice Girls.

I particularly liked the dress donated by Zoe Ball, which she'd worn at her birthday party last year. Well, it wasn't so much the dress I liked, it was the information that went with it. Apparently she bought it at a vintage shop in New York, had it shortened by the costume lady from 'Strictly Come Dancing', and got her P.A. named Em to sew a new fringe on the bottom. And to think some people just pop down to Marks & Spencers.

But the final word goes to a middle-aged lady who was walking around the exhibition, looking at the displays with a concerned expression on her face. I happened to be standing behind her examining a John Galliano dress, when the woman turned to her friend, shook her head, and said "Do you know what's missing from this exhibition?". Her friend didn't. The lady expounded:

"There isn't one over a size 10."

On a freezing weekend in mid December, there’s nothing I like more than getting out of the cold for an afternoon and watching 20 films in three hours without spending any money. That might sound like too much to hope for, but as luck would have it, the Sallis Benney Theatre in Grand Parade was playing host on Saturday to the Digitally Born Kids Film Festival, a free one-day screening of films made by under-18s.

So at 2pm I arrived at the modern state-of-the-art theatre which can seat 300, for an entirely free film festival organised by a committee of 11 local teenagers, who had personally sat through more than 80 films submitted from all over the UK, chosen the best 20, produced trophies and certificates, and even arranged for a documentary film crew to cover the event... only to find that about 16 people had turned up.

Perhaps everyone was out doing their Christmas shopping, but speaking as someone who spent eight years living in a village where the most exciting free event on offer was the annual Litter-Picking Day, I can't help feeling that the residents of Brighton have no idea how lucky they are. The festival deserved a much bigger audience.

The teenagers produced a fine afternoon’s entertainment, doing everything from handing out the programmes and introducing the films, to warning us that anyone who chewed gum would be forced to come back at the end and scrape it off the seats. The 20 films were shown in three groupings, with two short breaks to allow the more outgoing members of the audience to make their way into the theatre cafe to be interviewed by the documentary crew. I skipped that bit on the grounds that I’d probably say something stupid and end up on You’ve Been Framed.

As for the films, they were what you might call an eclectic mix, from animations about recycling and joy-riding, to live action films about time-travel, ME and murder, but almost without exception, they were phenomenally good.

I particularly liked ‘Best Friends’, a Welsh film about dyslexia, although it slightly ruined its own argument by telling us that both Robbie Williams and Britney Spears are dyslexic, and suggesting we hold them up as role models. It was made in 2006 before both their lives fell apart.

Then there was 'By The Way, I'm Gay', a brilliantly funny film about coming out of the closet, which went on to win Best Film, and 'You Hussy', an amusing short made at City College, Brighton, which took home the Best Comedy award. But even up against those two, the prize for most outrageous title has to go to 'Getting Stuck In' by Hadlow Youth Club in Kent. It's about a boy who stabs his father with a bread knife. To be honest, it would have been more gruesome were it not for the fact that you could see the chopped herbs in the tomato sauce they were using as blood.

I came close to seeing blood of my own when it came to 'Albana's Asylum', a Scottish drama so bleak that it would have made Ken Loach slash his own wrists. But by far the most impressive film of the afternoon was another Glasgow-based effort called 'Happy', a brilliantly directed film about happy-slapping, the makers of which will surely be vying for Baftas in years to come.

Other highlights of the festival included 'The Monster of Hove Lagoon', a documentary which can be viewed on the Argus website, and 'Brief-Case', a seven-minute whodunnit made by the DBK committee themselves, which featured a man being bludgeoned to death with a pumpkin. I haven't laughed so much in years.

My favourite film, however, would have to be 'Don't Open The Cupboard', a five minute movie written, directed by and starring Ben and Rory, Brighton's answer to Vic & Bob, who appeared to be aged about 12. They'd shot the whole thing at the Phoenix Gallery, and in addition to displaying a talent for surreal comedy, provided the highlight of the entire afternoon by dancing to a mobile phone ringtone over the closing credits. I'd give them their own TV show immediately.

Fortunately, by the time the trophies were handed out at 5pm, the audience had grown to a few dozen, and that was despite the fact that most of the award-winners had failed to turn up. The makers of 'Happy' (Best Drama) were apparently absent because "they're from Scotland and didn’t want to come this far", but the most original excuse of the day came from the winners of the Best Chiller award, which went to 'The Curse of the Circus'. According to the official announcement, "they're actually in a circus, and are touring at the moment". You never hear that one on Oscar night.