When I reached home tonight the house was smelling of a mysterious burning. After bloodhounding it about the place I isolated it to the boiler, which has subsequently died. Which means no hot water. Particuarly irritating for Mrs Kenny, who is going back to hospital tomorrow to have her plaster removed. Which of course is great news.

A bit jaded today after an excellent night with work chums featuring an enjoyable burst of spontaneous salsa dancing in the agency bar before settling on the OSP on Fulham Palace Road. Learnt that a nickname for me seems to be "the care bear". Not exactly sure why, something to do with a brown fleece I wear a lot I think. Homeward bound, and was so absorbed in squinting at my new palm pilot that I gallingly missed my station.

Crept into work today to discover Blakey is doing a fantastic job with the Marvel-style comic we are working on. Otherwise another bout of discussing the feedback from focus groups on copy I'd written about Erection Dysfunction. Apparently a bloke didn't like the word "action" in one of the headlines. That whim results in folks in the agency sitting about and stroking their chins for hours working out what to do about it.

Slipped out for lunch with Damian to the Riverside Studios where I ate a fortifying bangers and mash. Fine fare. D interesting company as usual. He was talking about his daughter Isabel who is too young to be able to tell the time. I've never thought about what a step that is. Tell the time and your world can never be the same again. It's a step towards recognising your mortality.