When I woke up attempting to play "Where the Wild Roses Grow" on the piano, I knew I was in trouble. The piano craving had suddenly become too much. Today's task? Talk my way into a church to find one!

I went for a long walk, armed with my map. First stop: cemetery near the Tube station. Very beautiful, as was the church itself - an arch dividing two chapels. But it wasn't open. Next stop, Noel Road anglicans. Huge huge building, but also shut. I broke for lunch at this point, then set off with a bag of origami paper and a secondary objective of finding the Central Library and dedicating myself to happy folding. I headed for Acton High Street, but by a detour route. I went through the backstreets of suburbia, the winding dark alleys of white picket fences. One of the most interesting things en route to Church Three was a van marked with an Australian flag and the words "Thomas the Spank Engine". No, I don't know either. When I arrived, I ran around this small block for a few minutes looking for any building of religious character, but there was nothing there at all. Onwards!

Church Four was only questionably a "church". It was, in truth, Acton Spiritual Center. It was set back from the road, and I walked down a passage to find a closed in car park with a normal Acton house set in the middle. It looked open, but they didn't look the sort for pianos. The whole thing reeked of aromatherapy and crystal chakras. They have a different clairvoyant come in every Wednesday for "Medium Evenings" and we are totally going. Next stop: St Marys, Church Five - in Central Acton and totally closed. Then I walked out towards the edge of town to Church Six, some Methodists - big, limestoney, imposing and closed. I lost a bit of faith in religion at that point. If I'd needed some spiritual guidance, I'd have been sorely disappointed.

I gave up on the piano, and kept walking out of town. I found Acton Fire Station, a paper shop, and not much else. The library was not where my map said it would be, and after a long while I turned to walk back. May I add that a scarf is a bit like the Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy towel - is something you shouldn't go without. Keeps you warm, unless you put ice in it, when it can keep you cold. Good for reaching things a long way away, tying things/people to and dangling them, hitting people, coping with wounds, entering religious buildings - and making head-scarves with when getting unexpectedly caught out in the sun.

I also checked out the Emmaus building. I think they're connected to the Emmaus Cambridge project. They have a working village for former homeless people, which sells back donated goods to people of low incomes. It seems to be a soup kitchen, with showers, for the local homeless. Once I have my timetable, and have spent a week or so working out how things be, I might volunteer. Homelessness is an issue that bothers me a lot, and I can wash dishes for a good cause.

What fail! But I had enjoyed the walk, and it's nice to go one block off the beaten track. Its a strange, nasty London thing that you get so into your routines that you never see what's a few streets away. I decided to head back to the library we had found. And on the way, I passed Church Seven - the Baptists. I don't know what it was that creeped me out about this denomination in particular, maybe my fire to be cheeky had dimmed. But I looked anyway, and it turned out the big dark alley to their Youth Centre was open. I met three American women coming out, to whom I explained my situation.

Have you seen Borat? One of the jokes is how - LOL - anti-Semitic he is. The most brilliant damning of racism I have ever seen comes as he realises his landlord and landlady are Jewish. He's hiding behind the bed in his cosy room, and intercut with his terror Mrs Jewish Landlady is coming up the stairs with a plate of cookies and milk. The whole thing is choreographed to horror movie music. The pointlessness of racism is heightened by how genuinely adorable the couple are.

I was reminded by this as they led me downstairs, chattering politely, to a beautiful room of bean-bags, coloured rugs, and a piano - like wood to a drowning man. As there They asked if they could stay and listen.was really nothing wrong, they were kind and marvellous, and yet I still felt a sense of ominous dread bourne entirely of my own paranoia.I said yes - I meant no, but I was being very cheeky. And soon two of them were happily asleep, and the third colouring in. I was in heaven - I really did feel like I had been missing something. I must have been there for about an hour, playing everything I could remember and some random improv to cover the gaps when I couldn't think of anything. Oh, bliss bliss and bliss.

We got chatting afterwards. They had come from Georgia for a week to the church on a sort of outreach-exchange thingie, working with the youth. They'd been into Central London one day and seen the obvious sights - Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, Westminster. They commented on the same thing I mentioned a few days back - London's multiculturalism - which evidently was totally unlike anything they had experienced back home. They had just visited and enjoyed an Afghan restaurant. I was also very impressed that they had gone on interfaith trips to see a Hindu Temple and a Mosque - hurrah for the death of religious bigotry! The hard sell, when it came, was actually rather gentle and I didn't object to it - on some level, I was using them so it didn't hurt to be used straight back. I am so happy for people with religion, so very happy. We swapped Facebooks, and I offered to play piano anytime the church needed someone. I don't expect them to take me up on it, but the offer was a totally sincere one. I feel I owe somebody something.

So I left the church with a sense of peace and contentment, although not for the reasons one would expect. I picked up my phone to call Calypso, just as she rang me. She was at the Fresher's Fair, Welfaring the LGBT desk, and had a lot of - crackle crackle - to carry away, so could I bring up the suitcase? This I did, arriving just in time before she was thrown out. Crackle Crackle turned out to be some four boxes of heavy leaflets. We struggled with them to the BFI, very close, for a slump. She'd had a fine day, if a tiring one. She also had a fantastic booklet about why universities need Officers for Disabled, Female, LGBT or minority students. Here are some of the facts I found particularly shocking and/or intriguing:

• Women own less than 1% of the world's property .
• A planeload of women die every week from unsafe abortions.
• At the current rate it will be 200 years before there is gender equality in our parliament.
• There are only 15 Black MPs - but if numbers reflected the proportion of Black British citizens, there should be 55.
• Black students are regularly awarded lower marks and are less likely to receive first class degrees unless strict anonymous marking is in place.
• African-Carribbean boys are 3 times more likely to be excluded permanently from school than white children for similar misdemeanours.
• In 1994, China introduced a law which enforces sterilisation of disabled people and compulsory abortion of disabled fetuses.
• Disabled people are ten times more likely to be victims of sexual abuse.
• Disabled people are denied adequate sex education due to the topic being taboo.
• 1 in 4 lesbians have suffered homophobic violence - as have 48% of LGB people under 18. 90% have experienced verbal bullying. 1 in 5 have attempted suicide.
• Only 6% of British schools have a homophobic bullying policy.
• It wasn't until 1992 that the World Health Organisation removed homosexuality from it's list of mental disorders. Until May 2007 it was legal to refuse foods or services to an LGB person. Trans people still have no protection from discrimination.

That's a selection of 101 points, all equally nasty, but those really stood out. I did disagree with one point, however - gay and bisexual men cannot donate blood. That's not discrimination so much as common sense. You're not allowed to give blood if you've had a transfusion since 1980, due to a bad batch; you're also not allowed to if you've been on holiday anywhere strange for the last year and, I think, if you've had sex at all in the last six weeks. I have no access to the internet, so I can't check these facts as I would like to, but certainly their rules are very strict - and so they should be. I know it re-enforces negative stereotypes about AIDS and what-such, and is probably very over-zealous - yet if there is even a risk I think the life of the patient should be prioritised over the feelings of donors.

I was also cheered to discover that Kings now have an Interfaith soc, seeking to put all the various religious societies on speaking terms.

We then went to the Maughan for internet. London Fashion Week is going on at Somerset House, and it's very funny to watch all the socialistas toppling around there in their ludicrous heels and noticeable fashionable-ness. The Maughan remains big and horrible, and we worried a little about being shut in. We got a takeaway at home and watched half of Muriel's Wedding, scuppered by the DVD breaking an hour in. Calypso's web dongle now works - ominously, the port she has to connect to is port 666 and is marked DOOM. But it works, so we have access now! And I made the origami eagle, although it started looking so much like a seagull that I changed the design a bit. I propped it up on one of my DW spaceship stands, and it is now happily flying in our lounge.