Three much cherished ex-pats revisited Blighty this weekend, so it was busy, seeing them and seeing everyone else as well. I'm like a mole blinking in the sunlight when I go out, right now, so it was nice, but exhausting, particularly with a stinking cold borne of walking to work in an extremely skimpy t shirt and jeans on the rainiest day since Easter.

Moment: rushing past The Clink, trying to find an anonymous wine bar, my German was just resilient enough to overhear the bored campy tour guide directing his party of pensioners along the less salubrious banks of the Thames. Pausing in a dark cobbled tunnel by the old skeleton in a steel cage above the Clink, he stretched his arms wide, and declaimed imperiously: "Old. Cold. Lovely."

Moment: an argument I stirred once upon a time resurfaced to bite me on the bum. I was handed an old email from several years back. It was bitchy and nasty and the writer of the email was plainly too stupid to see that they were unhappy with their life. It was pointlessly offensively troublesome in content. It was written by me. I might as well commit genocide now, my karma's shot to fuck.

Moment: instructing a waiter in a garden cafe to Bring More Stuff, I noticed that the reason I was having to be so fucking insistent was there in his toffee coloured steady eyes. They didn't change focus at all, not when he said yes, not when he said no, not when he listened, not when he ignored. Bloody waiters, mashed off their heads to cope with the boredom. Wonder if Jennifer Aniston was like that once?

Moment: Arriving at a frou frou wine bar with fingers so cold they'd gone a waxy dead looking yellow, Melons insisted on vigorously rubbing them between her palms until they were entirely shocked pink spots, and the feeling returned. Turning to Lettuce, I made the second stupidest remark of the evening, just as it went rather quiet. "That's the most sex I've had all year."
Seeing the widened eyes, realising it wasn't the most, erm, inviting comment to make to someone warming your fingers up, and hoping to laugh it off, I dug the hole miles deeper.
"Oh don't worry, by next week the most sex I'll have will be holding onto a safety pole on the tube."

Moment: Talking to an old university friend of an ex of theirs - 'yes he's addicted to your blog'. Different day, different bar, talking to an old friend about an old ex of an old university friend, and his ex - 'yes, he was in stitches over what you wrote about x's fit about y on your blog'. Strange. Yet I haven't spoken to one of these people for ten years, and the other I've only said hello to and made party chat to in the past five or so. Very strange feeling.

Moment: The moblog is making me a public nuisance.

And I blame Rose Madder for telling me I should shove the camera into people's faces without fear of their reprisals. I can't bloody walk anywhere without dropping to one knee to capture the sun on the dog turd glistening by the wayside. The poor bloody three fellas trying to eat their Sunday breakfast in peace in a Walthamstow deli this morning suffered around an hour of me trying to quell hangover shakiness to take something in focus of their snarfing.

Best Blo'te of the Day so far: CGP

"I understand that it is necessary to have a penny, because it is the smallest unit of currency, but why-oh-why a coin that represents two of the smallest unit? It's useless as I have yet to find a price that ends in .98 and, worst of all, the two pence coin is huge. As the second most valueless coin, it's also the third biggest"