I tried to have a lie in this morning. It was OK, and then Jessie woke me up properly with a luxurious 70 minute phone call. Things are very, very weird. And I finished the Short Trips too - quite lovely. I need to get on the web now, but no joy.

Last night 1 wouldn't turn his music down - For Your Eyes Only, Coldplay's Speed of Sound, Pink Floyd, and the heaviest Bethrock - a crazy combination! The nightmare is compounded by sleeping on a bed that makes exactly the squeak-a-squeak-a noise Hollywood uses when a couple are going for it next door.

I've just had breakfast - it's 12. Only the fire test automatically locks the kitchen doors, so I had to get 2 to open the other door from the inside. 2 is the nearest to a conventionally hot guy in our building. I did meet one of the most beautiful people last night - tall, lanky, smokes, heroin chic, lovely hair, lovely Welsh accent, watches Friends, hangs out with the girls, definitely gay. Pity, he's gorgeous.

Back from piano room two - they're awful. I've calmed down a bit now - I swore violently, loudly and long while I was there, but now I can't quite conjure the bile to spell out my anger in four letter words. I still feel it, however, a deep sense of betrayed irritation. I'm glad I didn't put this first for the piano now. Two grands - alike in dignity - one of which is completely out of tune, with sticky broken notes all over the place; the other, held up at the back by two yellow plastic tubs where the leg has come off, has a totally useless sustain pedal. I opted for the former - but again, I was reduced to the Smiths on loop. Can you believe that yesterday's piano was better than these two? It was far too tuneless for anything that requires the listener to focus on the individual beauty of the notes. Chopin was right out. And so was Firth of Fifth. It's not like playing a bad piano makes you a worse player, but you need to know your instrument has got your back. It's like your wingman - you need to know he's going to do his part, so you can focus on doing yours. No man can win a war single handedly and without backup; and there are some pianos that cannot be played, because when you crash down on them expecting them to thunder in response, and all you get is a clunk, it's like stepping on the beach and realising your platoon is still on the boat. At that point, retreating becomes the only safe option. I did sing a very pointed "Always look on the bright side of life", which succeeded in the giddy way only Spamalot can in improving my mood.

I have regretfully allowed 3 to go off and practice there (Welsh, studies music, looks like Toby from Satan Pit, can play Rhapsody in Blue on the piano and writing his own musical). He's also one of the most level headed Christians I've ever met - decus intelligensia and all. I've prepared him, but as he really did book accommodation here because of the instrument, I'm expecting him to come back as disappointed as I am.

4? Was that her name? Has been working out her finances - she reckons she has £71 a week for luxury shopping and booze. Well I'm one up on her, I've one less need to satisfy. But still:

£350 a month, which we'll say is four weeks. Of which £60 is going to go on me student railcard.
£290 a month, and if each shop costs about £40 that makes £160 for food.
£130 a month left for luxuries - I make that £32 a week.

Five cinema trips. Two Doctor Who DVDs. 65 second hand videos. 7 paperback comics, or two collected softbacks. One copy of Cold Fusion. One third of a Lungbarrow. I'm not that worried, really. 12 Micro Universe boxes. Now that is alarming...

I can save by buying cheap - I'm not much of a spender anyway. Mind you, as predicted, own-brand ribena is foul tasting. I'll get used to it.

Jessie and H have just called from a speakerphone mobile. H's passed her test.



Is it just me who matches culture to my mood? Cold days for cold music, subdued on sad days, love music when I'm feeling fuzzy. Same goes for films - if I'm feeling grim, I'll never choose something to make me feel better. Does anyone? The Quiet American is very good - Ggreene is love. He's just so painfully honest, his character' weaknesses are beautifully observed by both he and the characters themselves. But boy am I miserable now!

"From childhood I had never believed in permanence, and yet I had longed for it. Always I was afraid of losing happiness. This month, next year, Phuong would leave me. If not next year, in three years. Death was the only absolute value in my world. Lose life and one would lose nothing again for ever. I envied those who could believe in a God and I distrusted them. I felt they were keeping their courage up with a fable of the changeless and the permanent. Death was far more certain than God, and with death there would be no longer the daily possibility of love dying. The nightmare of a future of boredom and indifference would lift. I could never have been a pacifist. To kill a man was surely to grant him an immeasurable benefit. Oh yes, people always, everywhere, loved their enemies. It was their friends they preserved for pain and vacuity. "

Yes, it's always a barrel of laughs for Greene and co. Can he be beat for world weariness and resigned despair? 4 has decided we will call Hampstead Campus Hampus. And the Masters are causing me trouble. Tara!