"I hate your job more than I hate mine."
- predictable conversation starter between myself and my brother

It's especially hard to love this job when I'm working on the dark side of the room during this sunny spell and I seem to be mainly double-checking names and / or figures on a very, very, very big spreadsheet. Or washing up. So, summer: hello and goodbye. Still, I hear it's nice in Madrid.

And at least I can enjoy London in the hot weather by proxy by sending my parents off to see the things that I would like to see for me. Such as the biggest open air tea dance ever attempted. It filled me with a warm and fuzzy sort of joy to think of my folks wandering off to Trafalgar Square for an afternoon of free fair trade tea and tango, rhumba, cha cha cha (and char) and waltzing. It was a little too warm and bright for their tastes so after some idle spectating and a few cups of tea, they caugh the bus to Hyde Park and had an ice cream in the shade by the Serpentine then tottered home for dinner.

Now that is a great summer afternoon in London. I can't wait to retire and make the most of my OAP bus pass.

I'm currently heartbroken and pining for the baby blackbird that has been learning to fly on our patio. I spent a very pleasant Sunday watching this grumpy-features feathered tennis ball trying to clear the back wall and failing in various chirping, disgruntled attempts - it was so adorable watching it hop about and flying in short bursts from plant to plant then it would brace itself for a longer flight and go full pelt into the back wall, fall to the floor with a distressed cheep and start again. I'm sad because... I think the baby blackbird has now flown away to a grown-up life somewhere else. And I miss it. It didn't help my currently over-sentimental mood this morning when I saw this in the Guardian today.

I'm going out for a chocolate bar but can't think of what I want. Any recommendations?

Unlike many other people, I actually like coconut. But I couldn't eat a whole one.

"One thing that is lacking in that game is the ability to tip the board over in a childish tantrum and the computer doesn't feel it necessary to buy you an ice cream to stop you from crying."

I should never have installed electronic Scrabble on my laptop. I think there will be many, many, many nights of aggressive wordplay and screaming at the injustice of my computer opponent once again defeating me with "bi", "tai" and "de" whilst I am not allowed to put down "nu" or "ew".

Bastards. I was beaten by 3 points in my final, eye-watering, tooth-grinding game of the weekend but couldn't start a rematch as the sky was beginning to get light and I remembered I had work to go to.

In other news, we had a lovely, lovely evening with Devukha, whiling away the Saturday evening with gin, takeaway curries, (real) Scrabble and a kerr-razy board game about dictatorship called Junta, which we played with an impromptu Carry On style smutty commentary. I had the Marines and the First Battalion under me at one stage. They were both rubbish.

And then the next evening, we were off to North London for rabbit pie and blender goodies, with our fellow smug almost-married friends - good food, nice wine and excellent company to round off a really rather nice weekend.

Oh, and... Madrid. I hear it's quite nice.