Tubes, curse them. Shuffled into the Paddington cell late, and grinding my teeth about a journey that took more than three times longer than it should have.

Then was banged up again with the Gnome, and given execrable work to do. One of our jobs today was a nasty full page press ad whose sole brief was to sell computers at Easter. We did a version dotting yellow chicks on the page between the computer bundles with the headline Everything going cheep this Easter. Spleens thus vented we then did the real version and trudged through what work there was. Virtually the only conversation we had was with a geezer in one of the nearby cells poking his head into our peter and asking the rebellious Gnome to turn his music down.

By noon I was raving at the Gnome on the theme of asking Michelangelo to paint your toilet walls. He went to the pub and I scored a pastie and returned to the cell to mutter to MJ. Too damnably cold to lurk outside, and I was not in the mood for beers.

5:30 and blessed escape. What a contrast to last Friday when I was on an exhausted high, today I just felt exhausted.

Mercifully home and munching hot cross buns and talking to MJ. Poor thing has only read of hot cross buns in her American books, and not experienced their toasted goodness. Perhaps next week I will bring a couple of buns over and, if she's good, show them to her.

Below, view from the cell...