I'M finally giving in, admitting defeat and waving the white flag of surrender - I need a Sat Nav.

Call it what you will - a Sat Nav, a Tom Tom - whatever. But the long and short of it is I don't think I can go on any longer without one of these popular gadgets.

The opportunity to obtain this geographical assistance was there when I purchased my car, but it seemed like an unnecessary luxury at the time.

This was when I believed that AA Route Plans and signposts were good enough, but the truth of the matter is they are not.

As good as the route plan seems at the time, it never quite maps out how you would have liked.

For a start, I do not have a printer, so I have to scribble down what I see as the vital components of my journey.

However, more often than not, I forget something rather important, like the junction I need to leave the motorway, for instance. Or even worse, whether I'm meant to be heading clockwise or anti-clockwise on the M25.

Even if I manage to write down all the details correctly, fumbling around and trying to read them as I'm approaching a roundabout in fourth gear - in the dark - is about as much use as an inflatable dartboard, and probably illegal.

It's my birthday later this week and I now know what I'd like to unwrap. I've offered plenty of clues to my girlfriend and family members that a Sat Nav would be my gift of choice.

I came to the conclusion that electronic GPRS guidance was required after trying to get home from Bolton with a rather important stretch of the M6 shut.

As good as my planned route may have been, it did not account for these sorts of obstacles, nor have the adaptability to combat them.

I had ventured north to report on an AFC Bournemouth defeat against Oldham Athletic. The game was bad enough, but it was nothing in comparison to my journey home the following morning.

With the motorway shut at the junction I was due to join it, I opted to head into Manchester to get on the A56 to Altrincham. And what a terrible mistake that was because the world, his wife and the rest of northern England had decided to do precisely the same thing, judging by the carnage I found blocking my route.

As a southern lad, I've never been all that keen on forays north of the Midlands, and this drive did absolutely nothing to change my views.

The A56 is the worst road on the planet, or at least it was on that March morning.

Why bother with speed cameras? I hardly got out of first gear for three hours. Yes, that's right, I did say THREE HOURS spent rather statically on about 10 miles of tarmac.

I love my job. As a sports fanatic, what better way is there to spend your days than writing about sport?

But I learned about midweek matches the hard way. Any perceived glamour surrounding the world of professional football all but disappeared on that bleak Wednesday morning.

I also learned that a Sat Nav is as valuable a piece of kit as a notebook, pen and fingerless gloves in the armoury of any roaming reporter.