Arrived back in the UK on Sunday morning; flights were dreadful. No sleep possible on second flight due to the headset left plugged in by the lady next to me. Saw "Spiderman" on the second flight -- completely pointless film. Much worse than suggested by the Toulson report.

Train from Gatwick to King's Cross. Sat next to someone who worked in telecomms - really interesting conversation about digital rights, the politics of the labour movement in the UK and Australia, failure of management to control technologists in the West, etc. Swapped book recommendations (Lessig's Code for Castell's Network Society).

No train from King's Cross to Cambridge; had to get a coach from Letchworth. There was much more of a neighbourly feeling with everyone squashed into the unpopular coach rather than on the train.

Dinner with Alastair and Kate Fischer. Hadn't seen Kate in literally years, possible more than a decade, certainly not since 1994. Lots of fun. Best restaurant I've been to in Cambridge. I intend to keep the secret.

On to Stewart's party, preposterously overdressed. Refused to participate in the appalling sharking of Messrs Elliston-Ball and Morris, though Mr Morris didn't seem to see it that way. Woke up at 5am on a park bench on Hills Road. Doubtless a combination of the alcohol and ... not having slept in about 40 hours. Peevishly rang to find out where the taxi was; apparently it had been there an hour before but no-one was there. Well, no-one standing up, anyway. I still refuse to believe in this idea that I can just fall asleep like that, sometimes mid-sentence, and not realise it.