That's it, holiday over. By the time you read this, the latest instalment of my international TV series will have launched, this time in Hungary. Hanna, Shipi and I were back at our home beside the Thames for just a few days... long enough for me to start missing the adrenalin rush of live television.

Colossal posters line Hero Square in Budapest to promote the show. Its title is emblazoned in letters as high as a house: "THE CHOSEN ONE! Who will be the next Uri Geller?"

For some reason, Hanna thinks this is amusing. Regarding me over the top of her menu, she asked: "What would The Chosen One like to drink? A glass of water? You could turn it into wine."

"Be careful," I warned her. "Some of my contestants could turn you into a frog if I want!"

Hungary boasts some extraordinary mentalists, even though the show's youngest is just 15. That's not quite a record: one special guest on the German series was an incredible 11-year-old. I haven't seen anyone transformed into a frog yet, but I have seen plenty of performers transformed into stars.

Although I speak Hungarian, which was my mother's native language, I am not an instantly recognised face here yet. That will change quickly, because TV2 have made my show their flagship production, so we're strolling through the historic streets and enjoying the relative anonymity while we can.

This city boasts some of Europe's most stunning architecture, with houses to rival Billionaires' Row in London. My driver and bodyguard, Imi, told me that incredible wealth has sprung up since the Iron Curtain fell. These days, you're more likely to see Baby Bentleys than Trabants. Imi is an amazing character, a former combat helicopter pilot who flew the Russian Mil Mi24 Hind, a gunship known simply as The Tank. The Mujahideen in Afghanistan had a darker name for it... Satan's Chariot. Something tells me my Mercedes is in capable hands! Imi isn't my only pilot. I insisted on two more, for my Lear Jet. The show's Turkish version launches soon, and the producers have decided it has to be made in Istanbul. We originally thought it would be beamed live out of Cologne, because there's no easy way to shuttle between Budapest and Turkey — no direct flights, no autobahns and, despite the best efforts of the mentalists, I didn't trust the teleport. So we hired a private jet. The problem is, I'm so psyched up that mechanical objects keep disintegrating around me. Lightbulbs blow, ornaments topple of shelves for no reason... I don't want to hear an intercom plea at 20,000 feet: "Uri, can you fix a broken engine the way you do watches?" I refused to fly unless the plane had two engines and two pilots. That way, it's not a complete disaster if one of the jet turbines explodes... or one of the pilots turns into a frog.

Our brief stay in England gave me a chance to catch up with a few old friends. Lord Greville Janner invited us to dinner on Easter Sunday — like me, he's Jewish so of course there were no Easter eggs. I love chocolate, but it's not a great idea to fill your face with calories when you're about to appear in countless close-ups on millions of television screens. They say TV adds ten pounds to you... I don't have to give the camera any help with that! In fact, I insisted that our hotel suite at the Hilton in Buda had to be be on one of the highest floors, so Hanna and I could race each other up and down the 390 steps of the staircase. Shipi likes to takes the lift. He often has a takeaway capuccino in his hand, and he says he doesn't want to spill it... Another surprise Easter visitor was the business mogul and Reading FC chairman John Madejski. He is one of Britain's most generous philanthropists, as visitors to the Madejski Garden at the Victoria and Albert Museum in South Kensington will know.

John confessed he was worried — his team is hovering near the foot of the Premier League, and relegation in May is a real possibility. There are plenty of other clubs jostling to fall through that trapdoor, including Fulham, which is owned by another dear friend, Mohamed al Fayed. Another is Birmingham, and Reading were about to face them at the Madejski Stadium.

To bring him luck, I presented John with one of my new range of watches. Branded under the logo "Positive Energy by Uri Geller," they are decorated with my favourite symbols and formulae: the infinity sign, Einstein's mystical E=MC2, and the number 11-11.

"These are automatic watches, and their mechanism is the best in the world," I told John. "They're manufactured by Ingersoll — James Dean and Frank Sinatra both refused to wear any other brand."

"At least I'll know exactly when we score the winner," joked John. And he was right: Reading beat Birmingham 2-1, netting their crucial second in the eightieth minute.

I was so delighted with the match-winning power of my watches that I resolved to send one to Kevin Keegan, to help him keep Newcastle up. After all, as an honorary Geordie, it's nothing less than my duty.

Captions:

These mini-mes are edible: they're called Doppelgangers, the invention of Cindy Atmore, who is married to Joe, one of the consultants on my show.

Monster hailstones bombarded our lawns and drive, turning it white in about forty seconds. Some were bigger than golfballs — I'm just thankful I was inside at the time and not out in the fields, walking Barney.