The commentator reckons that the British Prime Minister is feeling the heat of the job and the pressure is manifesting itself in nervous twitches.

I have a level of sympathy for Brown, as I seem to have developed some odd tics of my own this week. I don't have to run a very large country, nor do I have to deal with terrorists trying to blow up airports or justify the war in Iraq, but I have decided to dip my toe into house-buying once again and it makes me twitch in pretty much the same way.

I have written here before about the terrible trials of stamp duty, estate agents and the prohibitive cost of buying any kind of ramshackle place in Dublin, but then I came over all Zen and decided to rest on my laurels awhile. I have sold my old house, but I haven't yet bought another.

Despite what the vested interests say, prices are coming down and I happily spent the last while sitting back and watching them fall.

It was my intention to wait it out until next year and then an event happened that weakened my resolve. I was innocently checking my email when it pinged into life before my very eyes and, just like that sensation of falling off the bed that happens in the middle of a deep sleep, I could feel my rapid and inescapable descent into house hunting. Here was a house, sent to me by a property website, in the area where I wanted to live, but with 15% knocked off the original asking price.

As I reached for the phone, my palms began to get clammy. The chirpy receptionist was delighted to hear that I wanted to see the house . . .

definitely much more delighted than a couple of months ago when potential buyers were an irritant. I made the appointment and looked at the property brochure on the internet again and I began thinking about new kitchens, shiny bathrooms and interior magazines. Just as every instinct had told me, making that call had been a mistake; I was back in the property voyeur's web.

I went to see the house and spent time thinking about potential builders, architects and planning permission (it's a house described as having 'lots of potential'). It wasn't until I began to moan to someone over coffee about punitive stamp duty that I properly realised I was truly back in the house hunting game.

Then came the visit of Minister for Education Mary Hanafin to our radio studios to talk, of course, about her education policy.

But just like a person with Tourette's Syndrome, I almost shouted out the words "Stamp duty!"

as she was leaving after the interview.

It took her a moment of puzzlement before I got the knowing and sympathetic smile that most happy home owners bestow upon the rest of us. At that point I managed to be more coherent: "Were there any hopes of further government reform on stamp duty?" I asked. Minister Hanafin was very nice about it, but it's not on the government agenda.

Now that the descent is complete, I am feverishly scanning the property pages of the newspapers. I foolishly hoped that no one in work saw me going through the recycling bin for the ones that I missed last weekend and I think I might go blind if I do one more 'search by map' session on the property websites.

Perhaps you can see now why I feel empathy with the head-patting of Gordon Brown. I might just write to him to tell him that he is not alone in his bizarre behavioural twitches . . . but then again, he probably has a very nice house already.