Well, I caught a tram today, as per the photo, to Kennedy Town. Highly amusing. Kennedy Town is nothing special – it’s effectively the tram terminus. However, to get there you spend 20mins on an old rambling tram. These are fabulous. They’ve been going strong since 1904 and a hundred and sixty or so of the double-decker fleet hurtle across the North of the Island every day. The journey was fascinating for a number of reasons.

First, the tram itself. They’re really narrow. The photo doesn’t really illustrate this very well, but trust me, they are. They also seem far too tall, compared to their narrowness – clearly a warped centre of gravity. I’d want to be widening their base and decreasing their height. The ride is very relaxing though, but very much like the DLR with its gradual sideways movements and shunting. Also, when the tram goes around a corner, you have that same half-praying sensation as when the DLR hurtles down the bend from CW into Poplar, or pulls itself steadily out of Bank Station.

Second, the journey. The streets really change as you move away from the heart of Central / the main financial district. Here you get the sense that this is where the real people of Hong Kong exist and get on with their daily lives. Hardware stores, basic greengrocers and supermarkets – nothing designed for the tourist – and all the signs are simply in Cantonese, not Cantonese and/or English, as you find throughout the Central district. There are also several herbal medicine wholesalers and dried seafood shops. I’ve passed a few of these walking around, put here there are rows of them, all selling dried fish. Literally, dried fish just hanging up. The smell is, well, overpowering and there’s no escaping that what you’re smelling is dried fish. It’s not necessarily unpleasant, but I’d prefer the smell of fresh fish any day. What was pretty fascinating was actually watching a fisherman lying his fish out on a cloth, in the middle of the pavement, literally covering it in salt and drying it in the sun. Car fumes and pollution perhaps add to the flavour…

Well, once again my rucksack, guidebook, camera, flip-flops and I (oh, and the obligatory pashmina) set off on a mini-adventure. I decided go for a summer dress though this time, after last week’s beach-in-jeans “experience”.

Today was a trip over to Kowloon, part of mainland HK. I set sail in the ferry across the stretch of water that separates the mainland from HK Island. The distance needed to travel has reduced over the years, due to land reclamation, and now it only takes between 5-10 minutes to get across. The Star Ferry has been going since 1888 and is both a famous tourist “must-do” as well as a regular method of commute between the Island and the mainland, and vice versa. The Star Ferries all have very romantic names – mine was called Celestial Star. Others are Night Star, Twinkling Star etc. The ferry cost 2.2 HK$... this is around 10p. You can’t even use a slot machine or go to the toilet at Victoria Station for 10p in England.

So, I landed and began wandering along Tsim Sha Tsui Promenade. It had only just turned 10am, but the temperature was already around thirty degrees. The litter bins amuse me – they look like they’ve been removed from an English train station. I looked at the former KCR clock tower and then wandered along the so-called Avenue of Stars. The HK equivalent of Hollywood, it is lined with lanterns and there are tributes to famous stars and the obligatory hand-prints on the floor…

Then I happened upon a sculpture park. Unlike the sculpture park near Ollie, this one actually has sculptures in it… although at least the Berkshire park is at least, “a park”. Clearly sculpture parks that are both parks and contain sculptures are just not to be.

I then went into the HK Art Museum a) for the air conditioning; and b) for the artwork. I think the former was more instrumental in deciding that I went in, although it was definitely worth it for the latter. This has to be one of the coolest street lamps.

I then wandered north of the City (? whether Kowloon is a city, anyway) and had a brief (by this I mean 90mins or so) wander around the HK Museum of History. Some fabulous artifacts – incredible detail on something so old and seemingly practical – I mean, it’s a pot, right?

Then I wandered along to Kowloon Park…

… and then down Nathan Road, which is packed with every imaginable shop and relentless crowds and people touting their wears. It’s typically famous for the number of tailors that line the streets.

I’d had just about enough of this when I reached the Peninsula hotel around 3pm, in time for a late lunch. On line with Raffles, the Peninsula is one of the finest hotels in the world. For HK though, taking lunch / afternoon tea in “the Lobby” is something of an institution. A pretty expensive one, but worth it all the same. Don’t you love bottles of water that cost around £3.50? HK’s answer for Claridges. It’s wonderfully imperial though, and there are a line of hotel Bentley’s waiting outside.

So therein lies a brief summary of my day. As I returned at 4pm, the clock (a reminant of British-occupied HK) on the Central Pier chimed the Westminster Chimes. It sounds a little whistle-stop, but I was over in Kowloon for 6hrs or thereabouts, so it can’t have been too whistle-stop! I walked for miles though and I confess to being slightly shattered, aided by a touch of sun stroke I think (well, not sun stroke but the effects of being in the sun for so long, coupled with possible lack of salt). My nose has caught the sun and gone all freckly. Also, I did have a broken sleep last night as I decided it would be a good idea to be patriotic and watch the rugby… oh, at, around 3am. But that was fine... I slept from 10pm – 3am and then around 6pm – 8.30amish. I mean, sensible…

You might be aware - and I suspect more Americans are aware than Brits - that ice hockey's NHL is coming to London this weekend.

Two games between the LA Kings and Anaheim Mighty Ducks will take place at the O2 Arena, giving British hockey fans (and Europeans prepared to fork out for flights) a taste of the best ice hockey league in the world.

The LA Times has written a very nice report looking at British ice hockey fans - you can read it here. I've excerpted my favourite bits below:

"Some British mysteries just bamboozle the brain, from Stonehenge to Jack the Ripper to the chronic popularity of "Big Brother" to just who on David Beckham's green earth bought enough hockey tickets that London would sell out two NHL games in a hasty fortnight.

"Start by combing the green hills of England, Scotland, Ireland. Tucked in there amid the outnumbered rugby fans and the outnumbered cricket fans and the legions upon legions of keen-eyed soccer fans who can spot an opponent's handball infraction from a buzzard's distance, somewhere in there, yes, some people do report their own hockey fandom.

"They follow unembellished clubs such as the Coventry Blaze, the Basingstoke Bison and the Sheffield Steelers in the Elite Ice Hockey League, which Roberts rates on a level with the United States' East Coast Hockey League. They decry soccer's hegemony without risking deportation.

"They read newspapers with frustration. Epitomizing their place in the margins, they might read a hockey score in the newspapers knowing full well the game went to overtime, but the newspaper will note only, say, "Coventry 3, Cardiff 2," because there's just not room to note the overtime what with all the soccer coverage.

"They often know their athletes personally. If they're out shopping in Basingstoke, say, and they see a member of the Bison, they'll just have a chat.

"Trickles of Kings and Ducks fans have come to London in recent days and have marched through the O2 arena, which houses so many good, varied restaurants that you could live in it full-time without risking malnutrition -- a sports-arena rarity.

"Some inveterate Kings fans such as David and Linda Baltazar of Downey, who rapidly signed on last spring after the announcement of the game, on Friday witnessed the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace and filed into the O2 for a party Friday night -- all part of a whirlwind, five-day London trip. The Baltazars also reported that the Kings tour group they joined on the club website had fallen victim to some savage infiltration from Ducks fans.

"Tickets, by the way, are being sold on the open market for $800, according to some news reports."

Life in the front line as a public sector worker has to be fairly tough. But sometimes you have to wonder if they make it even harder for themselves.

Last night, going to the Barbican to see the theatre group Complicite, my travelcard refused to work at the tube barriers at Paddington.

I went up to the gentleman operating the swing barrier and said: "Excuse me, sir - can I get through with this?", producing the ticket at the same time.
"I'm sorry?" Said the man.
"Can I get through with this?"
"Do you mean, 'It's not working'?"
"Well I don't know, I don't think it is..."
"So 'It's not working'. Not difficult is it?" He said, voice laden with sarcasm, opening the barrier for me. "Hey!" I said, wanting to go back and have my say on this.

"No, it's easy, you just say it's not working," he said, dismissing me.

Well he can dismiss me all he likes but, like every member of the blogosphere, I can damn well vent my self-righteous anger to all twelve people who will accidentally visit my weblog while trying to find something else.

I mean, how in God's name is his version more polite than mine? My version had a polite introduction, followed by a polite question and the production of my (valid) ticket. His version required me to grunt, "It's not working," in his general direction.

I get the feeling that if I'd gone up and said, "Excuse me, sir, but my ticket's not working," he'd have said: "What you mean is, 'Can I get through with this?'"

Anyway, short of writing what passes for a three hundred word electronic sigh, there's very little I can do. The performance, on the other hand, was magical.

Complicite had devised a show all about an Indian mathematician who travels to Cambridge University in the 1930s. It's admittedly an unlikely scenario for a two-hour stage drama, played out on a set comprising a whiteboard, a projector and the occasional video sequence of a train or an Indian city, but it worked brilliantly.

The acting was first class, the set ingenious, and the environment ideal. The only mild complaint I'd have is an echo of the thoughts expressed, loudly, by one of the sixth form girls who'd crowded the row to my right. When the show finished she bellowed: "So are we supposed to understand what the hell that was all about?"

For all the fantastic scenes, clever acting and spontaenous eruptions of dance, music, verve and intrigue, it was bloody hard to make sense of what was going on. The Indian mathematician made irregular appearances but was outdone by what were apparently a modern-day couple, a hedge fund operator and a lecturer.

By the end the lecturer had died of a brain haemorrhage on a train (I'm not spoiling the ending, this will be the least of your worries by the end of the show if you go to see it), the man has taken her maths books to India to throw them in a river, and back in the 1930s the Indian mathematician has also bought the proverbial farm.

But no one seemed to be entirely sure what all this was telling us. Nominally the whole show was about string theory, infinity, sequences of numbers and all kinds of other equations. However at no stage was anything profound ever revealed, mathematical or otherwise. I came away feeling like I must have missed the point on at least one level if not more.

Despite that I really enjoyed myself. It sounds silly to say but even though I don't have a clue what I am supposed to have taken from that performance, I'd go again. In fact I might have to go again about nine times to fully appreciate what I'm watching. Maybe that's a good thing.

Remember when I sent washing home in a jiffy bag from Oxford and the next week my Mum brought it back, washed and ironed?

Well, I've a new equivalent. Write a letter (a poison pen letter to HMR&C in this case about the fact I'm being double taxed at the moment). Print it. Scan it to myself. Email to the parents. Parents print, pop in envelope and post from the UK. Perfect. Let's hope they don't go on strike aka Royal Mail!

Also, my Mother is telling me off for thinking it is a good idea that Boris is the top Tory candidate for London Mayor. I think it's classic. I mean, one extreme to the other. Boris all the way.

It was a public holiday in HK yesterday as part of the Mid-Autumn festival, a rich festival full of lanterns and dancing and things. In short, it is all to do with the full moon in the 8th lunar month. Whilst the full moon was actually on Tuesday, the holiday was on Wednesday in order to recover from a late night moon-gazing.

Legend has it that the Mid-Autumn festival is linked to an ancient fable of Chang O, wife of the Divine Archer, who lived around 2170 BC. Apparently the earth had ten suns circling it, each taking its turn to illuminate the earth. One day, all ten suns appeared together, scorching the earth with their heat. The earth was saved by a strong and tyrannical archer (the Divine Archer) who succeeded in shooting down nine of the suns, leaving only one, the moon. The Divine Archer stole the elixir of life from a goddess (as you do), and, in order to ensure eternal life, his
wife drank the elixir. However, when she drank the elixir she found herself floating / flying to the moon. She remains there to this day and by the full moon of the eighth lunar month, her beauty casts a silvery glow upon the earth.

As with all festivals, there is a particular celebratory food. The Mid Autumn festival has the aptly named, Moon Cake. Apparently, during the Yuan dynasty (AD 1280-1368), China was ruled by the Mongolian people. Leaders from the preceding Sung dynasty (AD 960-1280) were unhappy with submitting to foreign rule and set out to coordinate a rebellion, without it being discovered. Almost in the manner of a Trojan horse, the leaders of the rebellion knowing that the Mid-Autumn / Moon Festival was drawing near, ordered the making of special cakes. They packed into each Moon Cake a message with the outline of the attack. On the night of the Moon Festival, the rebels successfully attached and overthrew the government. Following from this, was the establishment of the Ming dynasty (AD 1368 -1644) and Moon Cakes are eaten to commemorate this legend.

Whilst the legend may be pretty special, the Moon Cakes are pretty vile. They look very tempting, but are made from ground lotus and sesame seed paste, together with egg yolk and other such things. I'm hardly fussy when it comes to food, but these taste rather like yucky protein bars. Sawdust mixed with bird seed. Yes, definitely bird seed. Overly organic bird seed. Or the bottom of a bowl of deeply organic sugar-free muesli - lots of soggy nasty tasteless sawdusty oats. Blurgh.

In other news, Ollie*... no, sorry... um, not Ollie, politics... Yes, what is going on? Are they all getting slightly confused? Cameron described himself as "heir to Blair" and now Brown is likening himself to the "heir to Thatcher". Have they both got their knickers in a twist, here? It's a tough one to call though. Brown, credit where credit is due, has appeared pretty trustworthy so far and his conference speeches have been alright, albeit lacking in much substance. His interview with Mariella Frostrup was entertaining, especially the parting shot: "So when
will the general election be then?" Ms Frostrup asked, in the only way she can. Silence reigned. "Charming as you are, Mariella, the first person I would have to talk to is the Queen," came the reply. Beautiful. Even the Torygraph are praising him. I don't seen the Guardian praising Cameron. Cameron is a wet, murky green, Etonian blanket, who is frequently less in-touch than the England rugby team, and that's saying something. If they called an election tomorrow, the chances are that Brown would get in, albeit with a narrow margin. I'd hedge my bets at voter apathy being at an all-time high too. I think perhaps the Tories could do with their own "heir to Thatcher". It may shake things up a little bit. Perhaps we could coordinate a rebellion. Thatcher Thins, anyone? Brown Biscuits? Cameron Cookies? Yeah, ok. Hint taken. I'm off.

*Would I...?! Course not... love you really, Ol. :o)

I suspect I should be working rather than typing this (written earlier this morning), but instead I am watching an ever-changing view of the HK mainland. One minute it is there, the next it is shrouded with a screen of black clouds and driving rain. It's incredibly romantic, in sort of Eliot / the Waste Land sense of the phrase.

This would be my first experience of the tail-end of the HK rainy season. It began yesterday afternoon with rain, and continued into the evening with a low-level Typhoon warning and plenty of rain. Consequently, I think I managed three, perhaps four hours sleep last night. But, that doesn't really bother me and Wednesday is a "bank
holiday" anyway, so I can cope with a couple of nights of limited sleep. Although, since typing that sentence the chance of me getting the Wednesday off work is diminishing.

Anyhoo. So, last night I'd gone to bed and it was slightly noisy outside - lashing of rain and lots of wind howling around. OK, slightly annoying but I'm tucked up inside, so what does it matter. Then the thunder and lightening began. There was some incredible sheet-lightening over the harbour. The worst of it ('it' being a stormy night) is the air conditioning units. These jut out of each window, so I have three - bathroom, bedroom, living room. They are, in effect, protruding metal boxes. And when the rain comes down, they get battered. This creates a sound akin only to a caravan in the rain. Now, I'm not sure I've really ever been in a caravan in the rain, but I suspect this is what it sounds like. And with three of these units, you get a form of around-sound clatter. Deep, resounding, joy. And then of course I got one of my favourite Stereophonics songs, Caravan Holiday, stuck in my rain... "seven days holiday in the rain with you"... la la la.

Anyway, so, today the rain continues. But it's weird, because although it looks like it should be cold outside, it is actually still mid-twenties (degrees Celsius). Needless to say, I am wearing a big and incredibly warm and fluffy dusky pink jumper. Just because I'm English, and just because I can.

One of the other issues with trying to sleep, was that I decided to try to count sheep at one point. But how can you count sheep these days? I mean, I just started thinking about foot & mouth and bluetongue disease.
At one point, I had the most vivid image of a sheep with a blue tongue in my mind - the sort of blue colour a child's tongue would go if they had just eaten a raspberry lolly pop. Why, incidentally, are raspberry (pronounced ras-berry, not raaars-berry) flavoured things always blue?

It's quite helpful though, I suppose, that the diseases affecting our livestock at the moment are referred to in practical terms. At least we can appreciate that these sheep have issues with their feet and mouths, rather than it being referred to as Aphtae epizooticae, where none but the most proficient in Latin would have an idea what on earth was going on. I was amused by the new[e]s trail yesterday though. Don't get me wrong, I'm not amused by the concept of any disease affecting the farming community, but to begin with one news website reported that 'woe, it was all to do with climate change' (well, they didn't use those words, but that was the jist). The UK has got warmer and consequently the nasty parasite spreading bluetongue disease has travelled North. Then, the headline read 'British climate could save an outbreak' (or a phrase to that effect), since with any luck we'll have frost shortly and it will kill it off. Apparently the disease can't spread below 15 degrees centigrade. Well, I think both are probably quite plausible, so let's just hope the cold hurries on up. It does make you realise some of the more subtle, but largely devastating effects, of climate change (or potential climate change) though - whether this is an example or not, it gives an indication of what could happen.

On an utterly different note, something I forgot to ramble on about in my post on Saturday was the feng shui of a particular building. There's an apartment block in Repulse Bay, HK, just visible in the photo below.

As you can see, it has a hole in the middle of it. The building stands very close to a mountain, but is also very close / overlooks the ocean. According to the principles of feng shui, the hole allows dragons (which live in the mountains) to drink from the bay (they can get through the hole). It is very bad if dragons are unable to drink, apparently. I say this with a degree of Western scepticism, but also respect.

Living here, I can't escape the fact that feng shui principles are everywhere. There's one particular skyscraper - the Bank of China Tower - that is disliked because it has four triangular prisms. These are negative since, being the opposite to circles, contradict everything the circle stands for - perfection. The crosses on the side of the building also suggest negativity. Another skyscraper was disliked when it was built since people thought that it looked like a giant white candle. A white candle represents death. Consequently a rooftop swimming pool was built on the top of the building. The water puts out the flame of the candle and thus the so-called bad ch'i is dissipated. Other examples of feng shui include the fact that the sofa in my apartment faces North.

People at work are crazy about the number eight - the luckiest number. I am blessed with room 43-28 (a good thing) but it has been noted my HK ID number does not include the figure eight (a bad thing). In transactions, the timing for two companies to merge can depend on the date - this will affect whether the business is successful or not. Not strictly feng shui, but when eating you can't stick your chopsticks back in a bowl (as to make them upright). This is said to resemble incense sticks in a bowl of ashes, a sign of death. At this rate I'll be lucky if survive the six months out.

Last night was another ice hockey commentary, and what a game - a 7-7 tie after three periods, which went into overtime and then penalties.

I was commentating on my own (my colleague Andy was working on the football coverage back in Caversham and couldn't make it in time, so he presented from the studio during the breaks) and that meant holding the fort on a three hour broadcast, covering one of the fastest non-motorised sports on the planet. My voice was already going by the end of the first period - when I realised we were going into extra time, my voice box was serving the last of its notice.

It was a fantastic game and an amazing privilege to be commentating live. Even though it was only the second game I've done, I doubt I'll get another game like it. But as I mentioned last time round, iit's the comments people leave on forums during and after the games that really make it worthwhile.

Over on the away team's forum it transpired that a few fans were chatting away all night while listening to the commentary at home. They thanked us for being impartial (something we didn't quite achieve last time!) and seemed delighted with the service.

But on the main hockey forum - dubbed, cleverly, The Hockey Forum - you can read the response of real, dedicated ice hockey fans, some with decades of loyalty to the game under their belts. It's quite daunting to think that some of these people are tuning in to hear me, alone on a gantry above the ice, trying to keep them interested. Obviously it helps when there's 14 goals - God help me when it's nil-nil going into the final period.

The reaction's generally been good though. One person emailed the show to say it was the best radio sport they'd heard in years! I'm not sure it deserved quite that accolade but it's hard not to swell with pride when you read something like that. Another fan says:

"I was grateful for the commentary! So the guy does need to stick a thesaurus on his Christmas list (that'd be a brilliant present), but he's a good commentator and in time he'll be a good hockey commentator. If the coverage can keep me from leaving the room - even during the period breaks - they must be on to something.

How nice is that? A complete stranger tells the world they've got confidence in you to become a good hockey commentator. How kind to take the time to even commit that to the web. However, he does raise an issue others have mentioned, which is my hideous over-reliance on the word 'brilliant'.

Listening back to the highlights (here) it's fairly obvious, and it was probably worse live on air, but I never noticed it at the time. I was too busy trying not to make far greater mistakes! Here's me, the great Grammar Nazi who enjoys nothing better than lording it over others with a lesser grasp of the English language, and I can't find any synonyms in the memory bank for 'brilliant'. It's shameful.

With this in mind, for the next commentary on 6 October I'm going to institute a Brilliant Box. Between us, Andy and I will come up with some sort of forfeit for each time I use the word 'brilliant' during the commentary. I'm also going to sellotape a list of synonyms (marvellous, amazing, superlative, astonishing, spectacular, maybe even peerless) to the side of the gantry.

Not a bad way to improve in life though, is it? Have a go, then wait for anyone listening to let you know exactly what they thought. After the first game it was clear I hadn't researched the opposition well enough - solved most of that for this game. And next, we bump up the vocab a bit. And maybe after three years of this, I'll get to cover Great Britain at the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics...

It's currently chucking it down with rain in HK. No wonder the Brits liked it here. I think we're on a low Typhoon warning too. Anyway, so b*ggerd if I'm going out this evening.

I was randomly playing around on the net (some things don't change) and decided to Google myself. There's a reason for it, honest (beyond being a sad git (twice in two days))... A friend had suggested there was a ghastly photo out there of when I won an A Level Physics prize. There is. It's awful. I also seem to be dressed in a very short skirt.

But that is besides the point. a) I am no longer No. 1 in a google.com search, which is quite upsetting; and b) it seems that I have contributed to the Inns of Court School of Law recruitment brochure. I mean, I think I remember agreeing to this (I must have done) but I don't remember reading my quote until today. It's fine... apart from the fact they've removed some commas and it doesn't make much sense. You can read it here. Just wait for the law firm prospectus to come out... classic photo.

I think I shall have to get my domain up and running though. Maybe I'll then hit the top Google spot again (you can see I'm quite put out by this). You also learn so many things when Googling people. You think you know some people reasonably well, but... phonecards?!! :o)

So, I went on a sort of pilgrimage today. I didn’t know it was going to be a pilgrimage, but I’m not sure you ever know these things until you set off.

For many reasons (and those who read my Facebook profile status update can testify to this), yesterday (Friday) was a very strange day and I was in an utterly ditsy mood by the end of it. A very good friend found out he been successful in getting an amazing new job, effectively invented for him, but he went about telling me in the most ridiculously cack-handed fashion that in the end I was just angry, beyond utter belief, with him. Obviously I was over the moon, but telling me at some silly time in the morning when you are on the way to catch a plane out of Heathrow, really isn’t that useful. He also made my best mate hide the fact he’d got the job from me (so he could tell me himself) but then it transpired he expected her to tell me anyway (which angered her). Anyway, all is well, but it put me in the most bizarre mood.

So, when I got up this morning I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do. I’d also gone to bed around 11pm (my time) but for a variety of other reasons had been on the phone to the above best mate around 11pm (UK time) so 6am (my time). All utterly fine and unconnected, but it was just a bit bizarre. As a result, I didn’t end up surfacing until this afternoon, to what was the most beautifully sunny day. So, what do all Brits do when it is sunny? Yup, they go to the beach.

I got on a bus – yup, me on a bus. I generally hate buses in the UK (sorry, David) because I never know when to get off them (and hate looking like an utter dipstick –more than I can help it, anyway - in my own country) but here I decided to follow the masses. After a 20-30 minute drive out of Central (HK), the bus arrived at Repulse Bay. According to the guidebook, Repulse Bay is probably the most famous HK beach. Unlike the most famous UK beaches (? Camber Sands… dreadful memories from a Geography school trip… Skeggy… urgh… Blackpool… pretty grim, donkeys aside) it is actually rather beautiful. At the end of the beach there is a shrine to the God of Mercy and around the temple are an entire range of weird and wonderful figures – from fish to rams to other Chinese icons. There is also a Longevity Bridge.

Apparently each time you cross this, it is supposed to add three days to your life. I crossed over and then back again… so that’s an extra six days. I also went in the sea. Well, I paddled. Well, ok, my feet got wet.

Like all Brits I was thoroughly dressed for the beach… in jeans. *cough*. But these rolled up to my knees, so it was fine. The on-beach thermometer only read 36C, so it was hardly warm…

And then from Repulse Bay I got back on the bus and went to Stanley. Now, in terms of payment on the bus, HK has an Oyster card equivalent (as previously mentioned). I think I failed to complete my first bus ride since I didn’t zap off the bus. Thankfully, unlike the UK when this beeps the hallelujah chorus at you, when I got back on the bus to Stanley, it seemed to be quite happy and complete the journey. So, I didn’t zap off the bus to Stanley (in the hope I now had once complete journey) but I did double zap on the way back to Central HK – so fingers crossed I’ll be OK. One day I’ll work out this double zapping thing. So, Stanley. Stanley isn’t a particularly remarkable place. It was one of the more populated areas of HK Island when the Brits invaded in 1841 and now has a famous market as well as a couple of obligatory temples. I wandered around the market – quite an experience and also the temples.

The reason why it is more meaningful for me is that the amazing guy I was fortunate enough to call my 2nd Granddad (don’t go there) and who died last November, was called Stanley. When looking through my HK guidebook before I left with his daughter and son in law, it was generally agreed that I must visit and ensure I had a drink on him. So that is what I did. I sat in a bar, and had a beer and shed a tear as well (which, is utterly pathetic). More fitting is that Stanley is home to Murray House. This rather grand edifice was HK’s oldest colonial building in Central, but it was pulled down in the 1980s to make way for a tower block. The HK government promised to re-build the house elsewhere and in the mid-1990s they rebuilt it at Stanley. However, they had numbered the pieces so badly that it took 3.5 years to put the building back together and even when they did so there were six extra columns they didn’t know what to do with. Now, for anyone who knew my 2nd Granddad, this is possibly the most fitting tribute to him. If there was anyone who could put together flat pack furniture or the like and still have three bolts, two screws and a piece of wood left over at the end, it was him.

I sent a text to relevant family members who suggested I had a beer on them too. And who am I to refuse? So I sat and watched the sun go down in a bar overlooking the ocean.

Whilst doing so, my father sent me a highly amusing email (some antics my mother and he had got up to the previous day). And so there I was, sitting in this bar, drinking a pint, on my own and laughing out loud at my BlackBerry. What a sad git. We’ve all seen people do it – well, today it was me.

I don’t mind traveling on my own at all – in fact I quite enjoy it – but I do find I spend less in a place. You could spend all day at Repulse Bay for instance, but why am I going to sit on a beach on my own? I just go, see it and then move on. Not sure what to do tomorrow… maybe I’ll venture on the HK tube and go to another park out of town. We’ll see. Oh and I’ll probably go to church again. I've been using Shutterfly to load all my phots for parents and thing - highly recommend.

However, first I’ve got to wait up and patriotically watch England get beaten in the rugby. Oh and in more exciting news, I’ve booked my Christmas flights home. I wasn’t going to come home and then I decided it would be a perfect break. I’ll have Christmas at home (I really couldn’t imagine being anywhere but the UK) and then NY in London, probably. I looked at traveling around from HK, but that would cost more than the £500 return flight home. Also, I guess when it comes down to it, although I’m really enjoying it out here and it hardly feels the other side of the world – come on, I packed the day I left and really didn’t give it a second thought – I’m a homing pigeon at heart. And I think all birds go home to roost at Christmas. Unless of course you’re a turkey. ‘Cos then you get eaten, don’t you? Hmm. I’ll stop there.

Did you, like me, have just a little trouble matching the picture to the story?

It's tricky to reconcile the image of what would appear to be some sort of real-life Bagpuss with the headline "BBC admits new breaches of trust", when you haven't yet got to the part about the Blue Peter cat's involvement.

I spent a good ten seconds convinced that the pictured cat must have come out and apologised for faking competition winners. Maybe it worked for 6 Mewsic...

So, farewell then Jose Mourinho.

The Special One has walked out on Chelsea and Spurs fans are already lining the gates of White Hart Lane in the forlorn hope that the board will throw half a billion quid at Jose to replace Martin Jol.

Nobody really knows what happened that's caused Mourinho to up sticks at quite such a surprising moment, but the consensus seems to be that he and his Russian chairman had a bit of a barney and this is the end result.

On the BBC's 606 message board, contributor Eduardo_rules came up with this - probably entirely accurate - rendition of those final moments:

Roman: Jose, we're not happy about the start to the season. And we want to play better football.
Jose: Let me run the team and do it my way. I have won two Premiership titles, a Carling Cup and an FA Cup, not to mention the UEFA and European Cups with Porto.
Roman: No, we want it done differently.
Jose: Okay. Maybe I'll just leave then.
Roman: Maybe you should.
Jose: Maybe I will then.
Roman: Fine.
Jose: Okay I'm leaving. Someone get my dog for me 'cos I'm off.
Roman: You go then.
Jose: Right I'm off, last chance, 'cos I'm really going.
Roman: Bye then.
Jose: Bye.

(Jose leaves)

Roman: B*$%*^$! What are we gonna do now? (Much swearing in Russian) Avram, do you have any ideas?

Avram: Well funny you should say that...

The online trainspotting wait continues for BBC News article number 7000000. It would appear that the numbers are assigned in a slightly irregular (but broadly chronological) format, so we have indeed reached the seven millions, but article number 7000000 itself has either not been assigned or not published.

The closest I can get so far is number 7000003, which takes the form of video highlights of Celtic against Inverness Caledonian Thistle.

Football placed highly in my list of odds as to what would constitute article number 7000000 but of course, this one is three out. So the wait continues. Not wishing to rock the boat for the defeatists among you, but not every number is used - so there is a chance there will never be a 7000000. Futility is all a question of perspective...

I suspect that only internet geeks of a certain persuasion, like myself, would either a) notice this or b) find it interesting, but I am about to indulge in the online equivalent of trainspotting.

The BBC News and Sport websites are only a few articles away from ticking over to 7000000.

If you look at the URL of any BBC article, it contains a seven-digit number which in essence ticks up sequentially whenever a journalist fires up a new one.

The Northern Rock article dominating the news front page is number 6999615. Over on the sport front page, a Muttiah Muralitharan article on the ticker is 6999629.

By tomorrow late morning or afternoon, unless the numbering system used in CPS (the content management system news and sport employ) resets to some other figure, we should hit 7000000.

But what will article number 7000000 feature? I reckon the odds would look a bit like this:

5/1 - Northern Rock
6/1 - Liberal Democrats
7/1 - Gordon Brown
8/1 - Football
10/1 - Cricket
10/1 - Rugby
12/1 - George W. Bush
18/1 - Foot-and-mouth
25/1 - Weather or climate change
33/1 - McLaren
50/1 - Amy Winehouse
66/1 - Facebook
100/1 - William Hague
10,000/1 - Dayorama

We shall see. Wake up tomorrow morning and start checking URLs! Oh go on. It'll be fun. Fine... I'll have all the fun then.

Or so the saying goes. Well, today I Iearnt to always carry an umbrella with me whilst in HK. Whether it to shade the sun or protect from sudden and heavy rainbursts. An umbrella is a must.

OK, so I have been in HK for a week now and in general I have enjoyed what I've seen of the City. I have a fabulous Office, view from my window below.

I am living in a flat that is around 15minutes from everywhere. It's still pretty hot at the moment, which basically means 30 degrees of humidity and sweat. However, this will calm down in the next month or so. I had my first proper day out sight-seeing today. I went up to the Peak, which is one of HK's "must sees". The view from the Peak is meant to be one of the most spectacular skyscapes in the world. You think? Take a look. You can just about see over to Kowloon in the background.

To get to the Peak you catch the Peak Tram. It's so steep that the floor of the tram is angled so those having to stand don't fall over (or have less chance of falling over). The tram has been operating since 1888 and is still going strong. I'd like to go back during the evening / night to see the lights of the City.

Then I went to the Park, which is beautiful. It has a lovely aviary, fake waterfall, mini lakes, a Tea Museum and is generally a tranquil oasis amidst the bustling City. I like the below. Turtles and fish; scenery; towering Office blocks.

It is certainly a bustling, highly polluted City though. The trams hurtle up and down, the buses thunder along and the taxis are everywhere. But it does seem to absorb both its people and bustle very well.

Things need to change. Many, many things need to change, in fact, but the world is so large, and the list so long, that I'm prioritising the things I can actually do something about.

Number one: I need to go to more interesting things. Now I already do a good line in interesting sporty things, and the occasional interesting newsy thing, but cultural things are I'm afraid a dead loss. About three years ago I went to the Museum of London of my own accord, on my own, and that was probably the last proper outing my brain received.

The solution is to go and see Complicite, recommended by my lovely friend Lucy May, who (prior to becoming a broadcast journalist) was a dancer and general arty person. She retains a commanding knowledge of all things arts and highly recommends Complicite, who are performing at the Barbican til early October.

From what I can gather I'll be in for a sort of extended story told through the medium of dance, where everyone is aware of each other's space apparently, which puts me in mind of a shoal of fish. Here is the blurb from the booking page:

"This is a story about connections between ideas, cultures and times. In London a man attempts to unravel the secrets of his lover. In Bangalore a woman collapses on a train. In Cambridge in 1914 Englishman GH Hardy seeks to comprehend the ideas of the Indian prodigy Srinivasa Ramanujan."

Cripes. I don't get that at the ice hockey. I'm already full of eager anticipation.

Oh and thing number two on my list of things to change is the amount of sport I play, which currently stands at nil. Speaking of ice hockey, it's on my list of potentials, although I need to learn to skate first (and thereby conquer the fear of skating I've had since crocking my ankle on a school trip nearly a decade a go). It's either skating or rowing but at least with skating there's less chance of sinking, unless global warming really does kick in.

Earlier today I went into Reading to interview Cameron, lead singer and founder of the band Architecture in Helsinki.

Myself and cameraman Chris met Cameron reclined on a knackered old sofa in a dark, dank room upstairs and behind Reading's Fez Club, where they are playing as I type this evening.

He was happily engaged with a bright green and silver laptop, but smiled when we walked in and extended a hand. He came across as a very nice man, and seemed resigned to doing this kind of thing - I dread to think how many local radio journalists have pottered in and out of similar rooms across Australia, Singapore, the UK, France, the UK again and (soon) America in the months, and months, and months that Helsinki have been touring.

The band hail from Australia and it was clear that Cameron wasn't entirely sure whereabouts in the world he was. He'd have been able to get as far as England but Reading's precise location must have remained a mystery, and an understandable one at that. Off mic, at the end of the interview, he politely asked where "Berkshire" was (pronouncing it burk-shire), given it was emblazoned on the microphone. I had to explain that Reading was in Berkshire, and run through the whole burkshire/barkshire thing.

It must be incredibly odd to be over the other side of the world from home, checking your emails in a glorified store cupboard, waiting to play another gig in another faceless town. He's in Kingston-upon-Thames tomorrow, having been in Sheffield last night. His only knowledge of Reading was a bit of shopping in TK Maxx earlier that day. It's not like the band have the time to actually go and explore, or get to know these places.

So it all felt a bit soulless really. The interview happened because I'm standing in on our new music show for a couple of weeks - when I was last writing properly as a music journalist-of-sorts, a couple of years ago, I didn't shed a tear when the BBC job came up and I could give it up. It's one vast manufactured industry, with PR people pulling strings and bored bands giving boring answers to bored journalists. Even sports journalism offers more spontaneity, raw passion and insight.

Cameron was polite, friendly and apparently more than happy to entertain us, but it still felt like tough going simply because it wasn't a natural environment. There was a camera with a bright light pointing at him, my microphone underneath his face, and the somewhat claustrophobic walls of this cupboard leaning in on us. it's tricky to make that feel like a natural conversation, especially with the band's soundcheck thumping through the paper-thin walls and floor.

Still, having seen the band a few months ago, I doubt the cupboard is going to adversely affect Cameron's stage presence tonight. On stage Helsinki are electric, jubilant and vibrant, leaping from instrument to instrument with boyish enthusiasm. I just don't know how you bottle that on camera in a cupboard on a Wednesday afternoon.

I think it speaks volumes that both Chris and I managed to leave our mobile phones in the cupboard by accident. I realised just as we were leaving; Chris only noticed halfway across town and had to run back. We can only surmise that we were both so keen to get out of the cupboard that, when packing the camera into its rucksack, we both lobbed our phones to one side then bolted for the door without a second glance.

You'll be able to listen to an edited version of the interview and make your own mind up on Sunday night from 7pm. There'll be an article on the website as well, I'm sure, although with foot-and-mouth looming (and yes, I've already been asked to create an interactive map of the outbreak), it may be put on the backburner.

It seems that if one is to be resident in HK for a time, then you need a HK ID pass. This is, I imagine, something akin to what the Government wish to introduce here (by "here" I mean the UK!). It's quite an effort to get one, starting with a 3 hour herding process from cattle pen to cattle pen. At the same time, the Immigration Dept reckons they see up to 700 people each day and despite the fact it seems a nightmare to begin, I confess that the system is actually quite efficient.

Instead of explaining, I have extracted bits from an email sent to an esteemed friend and colleague. Blackberry's have their use in times of boredom. It was a damn long email in the end, covering everything from underwear to wombats to bonuses (don't ask). The status update on the ID card process came in between other paragraphs. It's a good job we send eqial numbers of emails full of vitriol to each other, and also a good job that inter-office phone calls between HK and London are free.

"Morning. Well, I fear this could be a long email since shall use you to pass the time whilst queuing for the damn HK ID card. I suspect there is an easier way, but I was told faithfully by X to just turn up. Forget about an appointment, just turn up. So, went at ten yesterday - no hope. Back at 8.15amish today... possible hope, but not hopeful. There were about 200 of us penned like cattle in this hot waiting area. Now we've been herded by men in uniform (who look like something straight out of Mao, red berets and everything - can I get arrested for saying that?) up escalators. Now you know that whilst a few people will drop off to other immigration depts on other floors, basically everyone is heading for the 8th floor where you get your ID.

(...)

So, eight escalators up and I am now in another queue. It winds its way around and gets to outside the toilets (but don't fear, no one can go, as they are locked). There's a notice on the wall with a map showing you where you have to go. The map has an arrow which says "you are here". It may as well say "you are f'ked and here for the duration". Now I wish I'd brought a book to read. Something the length of War and Peace would be appropriate.

(...)

Um. Oooh, I have a slip saying 9.30am and the person next to me says 11.00am. There is hope. This slip ensures that I can go up to a counter (at 9.30am with another 50 or so people, also allotted 9.30am), fill in a form and then sit back and wait again.

(...)

I have been seen, I have filled in the form and I'm back in another cattle pen waiting for my photo to be taken. I am number 153, screen currently on 130.

(...)

Numbers now seem to have stopped moving. Great.

(...)

Photo and thumb prints taken. Now back in cattle pen waiting for my number, yep 153 again, to come up. Stuck on 115.

(...)

Have now been seen by a very scary woman and given my temporary pass. I have to come back in two weeks to collect the real thing. F'ing marvellous. I look relatively pretty. I suppose that's a bonus Speak later.

Xx"

And therein lies my THREE hours of fun.

In other news, have managed to purchase the HK Oyster-card equivalent, the aptly named Octopus card. All still well and good and fun! It gets dark around 7.30pm though, which is a bit weird. It's also a bit strange getting in from work when people get up and going to work in the morning when they go to bed.

... but they've given a mile. Yes, that's the news today - the EU have got bored of trying to persuade Brits to change from imperial to metric, that they've finally given up. Fabulous. I may be of the metric generation, but tell me to bake a cake with 1/2lb of flour and 4oz of sugar and I'll know what you're talking about. Give it to me in grams and I'd actually have to think about it.

I'm also amused by this article. Now, there's a debate on BBC Oxford about whether the view of Didcot Power Station is one of the worst edifices in the country. Rubbish, I actually think it's pretty beautiful. Well, in the way only a power station can be beautiful. The view from the M40, looking over the Oxfordshire plain wouldn't be the same without Didcot (you know, the bit where the sheep stand on the edge of the cliff and end up with one leg longer than the other...). Anyway, apparently Didcot is one of the healthiest places to live, by life expectancy. It seems living next to a power station isn't such a bad thing. Now, that's good to hear since I was brought up in the shadow of Didcot.

I'm enjoying HK so far. All well and good. More on that over the weekend... (i.e. when I actually do more than walk from my apartment to the Office!). I do have the most fabulous view from the 43rd floor overlooking HK harbour though!

It's been a weekend of firsts.

On Saturday afternoon, I was hugged by an Afghan for the very first time.

The Afghan Deputy Minister of Information (I think) and his team came to visit our local BBC station as part of a wider fact-finding mission to the UK, presumably to see how the country, and the BBC, 'does' information.

One or two of the party could speak English but for the most part they were operating through a translator. So, for the first time in my life, I found everything I said being echoed in a foreign language about four seconds later, which was fascinating - I kind of wanted to stop and listen, except if I stopped talking then so would the translator, which made it a bit tricky.

I showed them how we put our website together and they all seemed duly impressed at the simplicity of our system (this after a visit from an engineer with a polar opposite point of view just days ago). A couple were keen to ask questions, for example about how 'Listen Again' works (answer: badly, at the moment), and they all appeared genuinely very interested in how things are done.

When we'd finished, I got up to shake hands with everyone and guide them back to our newsreader, who had previously been showing them around. But one of the group members stopped me and asked, in broken but functional English, where I'd studied, and then what I'd studied.

Having heard that I studied history, he broke into a wide smile. "So you have two professions?"

Now I'm probably capable of claiming many things in life, but I'd struggle to claim history as my 'profession'. I had to explain about my postgrad in broadcasting.

This did not dissuade the gentleman. "You are just like my son! He completed degree in medicine but now he is investigative journalist. How old are you?"

Yes, his son was 22 as well. He took one of my business cards and insisted he must get his son to write to me. Then, before he turned to leave, I extended a hand. He ignored the hand entirely, swooped an arm up over my shoulder and gave me a great big bear hug, smile etched across his face. It was quite touching, albeit in an entirely unexpected kind of way. I await the email with great interest and anticipation.

The events of Saturday evening, however, outdid the events of the daytime. For the very first time, my good friend and colleague Andy and I travelled to Slough to commentate on ice hockey.

That's the view from what is now the BBC gantry at The Hangar, otherwise known as Slough Ice Arena.

In one of the more laidback commentary deals of our time, Andy and I negotiated the installation of broadcasting equipment over a 'meet the players' barbecue last Sunday. So here we were for the start of the new season to commentate on Slough v Invicta, the first ice hockey commentary either of us has attempted, and the first online hockey coverage from the station in its history.

Slough ended up winning 9-0 and you know what, I may be slightly biased, but I don't think we did too badly. For me there were two major problems: firstly as we are based at one end of the rink, it is incredibly hard to distinguish members of the visiting team from one another when attacking the near goal, as you can't see their names or numbers; and secondly I kept slipping into footballing terminology, once referring in dramatically incorrect fashion to 'the pitch' when I of course meant 'the rink'.

We got a few other things wrong here or there but having listened back to most of it while at work today, it feels like people at home would at least have had a sense of what was going on, and we regularly gave the score, time remaining and other basics. It's far from the best hockey commentary in the world but it's serviceable and we'll only get better.

Here's a sample of comments from the two sets of fans. Doing something like this throws you up on a pedestal so I've got to be prepared to take the verbal fruit-throwing with the praise... it's not as bad as I thought it might be!...

Jets fan: "I heard the last five of the 2nd, and the 3rd period online. It was good, perhaps better than you'd expect from local radio. They could probably use an ex-pro for color commentary, and they could certainly use a scorekeeper. Anyway, we came out of it sounding good."
Jets fan: "Considering this was their first attempt I think it's great."
Jets fan: "I'm told (as I cannot get Realplayer to work) that it's pretty good listening from a Jets point of view."

Invicta fan: "The only problem for some Invicta fans listening back home was that the commentators didn't seem to know anything about anyone who wasn't a Jets player- hope this'll be different when they play the EPL sides. One of our fans actually had to e-mail them our team list which is a bit worrying." [Editor's note: Slightly unfair. We already had a team list, we were just having real trouble identifying their players coming at us, and if we can't see names or numbers, no team list in the world is going to help! I do admit that from an Invicta point of view we were below par and my main aim for the next one, against Guildford, is to improve my away team knowledge about ten-fold.]
Invicta fan: "As for the commentary, well it was pretty poor, but those guys obviously had their reasons for being so."
Invicta fan: "Can't believe the negative way he is reporting on Dynamos. Okay, we don't expect to win, but some of his comments are unnecessary."
Invicta fan: "I don't think that the commentators are putting the Mos down. They are a local radio so obviously know more about their own team. The commentators have also stated many times that this is their first game commentating, and that they are at one end of the rink, so in the first the Mos were facing them, hence the reason they could not see their names. Good effort by Radio Berkshire - would be nice if Radio Kent could also do this."

Lots of food for thought. We can't expect everyone to be thrilled with the commentary when one team loses 9-0, but there are points I can definitely take on board and having listened back myself, there are other bits that I need to work on.

But what brilliant fun! Seriously, even though we're doing it in our own time at the end of long Saturdays, commentating on ice hockey has to be one of the most enjoyable things I've ever done. I'm determined to get better if only because I'll be getting plenty of practice - I'd be mad not to turn up to as many games as I can.

Oh and you can, of course, have a brief listen for yourself. With nine goals (seven on my watch) there were plenty of highlights, and you can find them here.

The title says it all, really. Life in HK began around 1 1/2hrs ago.

Lfe is a game of hoops. I've had this discussion with Ollie before. Hoop after hoop. Take today, for instance. Hoop 1: Get to work; Hoop 2: Get through appraisal; Hoop 3: Get home from appraisal; Hoop 4: Get to Oxford; Hoop 5: Attend hospital appointment; Hoop 6: Meet Ollie (now enter nice phase); Hoop 7: Sort work things out; Hoop 8: Drive to London to see Anthony; Hoop 9: Get home; Hoop 10: Sort out some packing. And then maybe 'll be able to rest for a bit. Hoop after bloody hoop.

The upside is, most things coming together. I think it hit me today, driving back from Anthony, that I'm going away. Oh well, still days to go yet, right?!

My Sky has now been disconnected though. Tis a sorry day :-(

It's no secret I like a bit of old Phil Collins or Genesis stuff, and so you'd often find me, in my teenage years, sat in a bedroom at home, behind the drum kit, headphones pumping "In The Air Tonight" into my ears as I waited for that brilliant drum crescendo to kick in.

Little did I know Cadbury's were filming me...

Had I grown up a gorilla, that would be an exact replica of me, aged 14, behind my kit in my bedroom at home. Happy days. What an advert. Kicking into the drums in that song is the best feeling in the world.

Now, what's the first thing you notice in that picture?

Like me, I suspect you might have thought, 'What is that hair doing? It looks like he's got a bald patch!'

And indeed it does. I'd been on an early shift and not washed my hair that morning. Had I seen a photo like this before leaving the house, I'd have revised that decision. As it was I went the whole day before this issue came to light in the photograph.

But if you're particularly eagled eyed, there are other things to spot. For example, you might have twigged that the calendar still says 'January 2007'. Having tied it to an overhanging cable I cannot now untie it again, so it remains stuck in its own little timewarp.

Or you might have very cleverly deduced that my desk is next to a fire escape, since the corner of the door is visible in the shot, as is a fire alarm braille notice.

You may even have realised my PC monitor has its own rear-view mirror, donated by David Sheppard, with which I can see the entire newsroom behind me.

But David, the man who had come to visit me, spotted this:

CMS is the software we use to update our BBC website, and David works for the team which designs and builds it. He'd turned up in our newsroom to find out more about how we use his technology - what the working relationship is between user and software, and what we'd like to see changed or improved. Naturally, the very presence of a big sign questioning the software's reliability was going to draw his attention. I only realised it was still there once he'd sat down next to me, and didn't have the chance to create a distraction and destroy it.

David spent three hours with me, asking me to create a web feature from start to finish (this one) and getting me to describe my every move. In the process it became very clear that I use all sorts of workarounds and tricks that the designers don't even know exist, and are surprised to discover we have cause to use.

It seemed like David learnt a lot of stuff and he went away apparently a very happy man having done his research. But I'd picked up a thing or two as well, during our lunch break and the walk we'd taken around the grounds.

It is well known that within our various online teams there exist at least five or six competing bits of software for building BBC web pages. For example while we use CMS, News and Sport Online use CPS, some radio station and music websites use FLIP, and still others with sillier acronyms can be found elsewhere. At Reading Festival we built pages using a piece of software called HomeSite, and some sites still use the relatively archaic Dreamweaver.

But what amazed me was the discovery that the teams behind each of these are actively working to conquer the market. In other words, they're improving their product with a view to rolling it out to other BBC websites. In yet other words, they're direct rivals with each other!

So we've got teams of BBC technologists huddled in their various corners of London, trying to outdo each other in the quest to be Top Dog. David and his CMS team can claim all the Where I Live websites and parts of CBBC as their kingdom, but David insists CMS has the capability to attract all the other websites, even News and Sport Online.

For the latter, CPS remains king, but David reckons CPS is less flexible and requires more coding by the user. For David and CMS, user-friendliness and ease of use are the priorities, so much so that his latest research is all to do with creating a dead simple interface for the most basic of users. Our newsrooms are littered with radio and TV journalists for whom the web is a frightening monstrosity, so they need gently coercing to get them to contribute to our websites. That is the CMS plan.

But when I pressed David on this, it became clear that he's just one of many Davids all trumpeting their chosen piece of software to us BBC online folk. He admitted that whenever he comes into contact with designers from the other teams, it's all a bit uncomfortable. "It's like, 'Get out of here or I'll set my ferret on you,' when I sit next to them," he said, pulling a wry smile.

Now I don't know what to make of this. Part of me thinks it's brilliant that the BBC has competing teams, each striving to make their web tools the finest in the land, each pushing the boundaries of what we can do. After all, look at most BBC websites and they're smashing - the software is clearly doing pretty well for itself.

But can it really be right that BBC members of staff are having to go up against each other and, ultimately, fight with the goal of putting some of the other lot out of their jobs? If CMS got the nod across the board, one can only assume the CPS, FLIP and other design teams would be handed their P45s. It's the equivalent of BBC Radio Solent deciding to move into our patch, and their web journalists putting me out of a job once everyone goes to their website instead of ours.

Is it better to have five small teams working on five solutions, or one big team working on one solution?

So, today was the day I set aside to pack. *cough* For a variety of reasons including a lie in, pub lunch, weak bladder, network cable, draw of the internet and general procrastination, I only began at 5:21pm. I then went out from 7:00pm, returned at 10:30pm and then packed from around 11:30 until 12:00. The thing is, it doesn't really take too long. I've just had to fill my very large suitcase with shoes, clothes, dvds and a couple of books. It weighs a ton though. Serious "heavy" label coming up at the airport. In fact, I think I need to call BA tomorrow and pre-register the fact it is heavy and / or decide whether I take two lighter cases. Hmm, decisions.

The underground is really helping things at the moment though. I was reminded of Ollie's interactive map earlier... In all their wisdom, Transport for London have produced a tube map that highlights all the affected lines. This morning, the only lines that were not highlighted (and thus had no problems) were the DLR lines. Useful, huh?

I really should write something more exciting, but I can’t think of anything. Apologies.

It's been a whole seven days, if not more, since I last appeared here. That's probably some kind of record, but at least I can argue I've spent the week engaged in various worthwhile pursuits. Here's a rundown:

Sunday: Reading Festival winds down

That's the view late on Sunday night as BBC3's beautifully lit outdoor area stands empty. The backdrop takes the form of Reading Festival line-ups from previous years, which briefly caused me consternation when I saw Blur were top of the bill... albeit for 2003.

We finished the festival off with another quality live broadcast on Sunday evening, playing a Smashing Pumpkins track to round things off. Linda, the presenter, is going to be away for a couple of weeks in September... so guess who gets the gig of standing in for her?

Yep, I'm dusting off my music knowledge to present our new music show, including a live band in session each time. I've absolutely no idea how it's going to work but I'm really looking forward to it. Tune in on Sunday 16 and 23 September from 7pm.

Monday: What Bank Holiday?

I know there are a lot of people out there who work Bank Holidays. I tend to wear this as a bit of a badge of honour - the whole weekends and Bank Holidays thing - so the Monday was packed out with stuff to do.

By 11am I'd already been back down to the festival site to film the clean-up operation and the legions of dirty teenagers filing back down the road to waiting coaches, trains, and parents. The top one per cent had arranged to meet parents in the surprisingly deserted Waitrose car park, a mile's walk away but well away from the traffic. The remaining ninety-nine per cent were scrapping it out along the avenue right outside the festival gates.

Once inside (with security no longer an issue) I found myself a rubbish truck and started filiming the crew emptying sacks into it. These are standard shots for any regional news report: you can probably write the script yourself. "The clean-up has begun at Reading Festival this morning as eighty thousand rock fans leave the town.." etc.

Except I'll be taking £250 off You've Been Framed. One of the binmen picked up a huge black sack full of drinks cartons, empty food wrappers and such like, and swung it towards the truck. On the way, the sack broke, and his hapless colleague was showered in concentrated festival detritus. Needless to say, they didn't bother picking the debris up, and drove off.

In the afternoon I headed down the M25 to Sutton to watch Maidenhead United play. They recorded their first win of the season, 3-2, and we did live reports into our drivetime programme. It's remarkably easy to get just about anything on air on a Bank Holiday. Radio stations might as well not exist on public holidays - all the regular presenters are nowhere to be seen, so the stations tick over on anyone too slow to confirm their absence. As Richard Hammond said, sitting in on Radio 2, he was "cheap and available". I don't know if his definition of cheap matches our local radio definition, but the idea remains the same.

Tuesday: A Walk In The Life

As Amy knows, my dog Toby is a big fan of the sculpture trail that leads through the woodland a couple of miles away from our house. This was my first proper day off back here for a while so the priority was a good dog walk.

Toby had his usual half hour or so chasing tennis balls around a lush, green meadow near the woods, then as we headed back, we were intercepted by a young man with a number of clipboards. Turns out he's doing a survey about the woodland in the Chilterns for a degree at Reading University - he explained it in far better detail than that but I sort of lost the plot midway through and remain unsure as to what, precisely, I was contributing to. Either way, someone, somewhere, now knows I'd be prepared to pay a car parking fee for better upkeep of the woodland and initiatives aimed at preserving wildlife.

Later that day I got my hair cut, which I must say was quite incredibly overdue. The things hairdressers can remember continue to amaze me. Not only did mine recognise my voice on the phone (I, ashamedly, am still not sure of her name), remembered my job and even remembered that my friend Rita injured her knee in a bouncy castle-related incident two months ago. That's good going!

Wednesday: The Wedlock Stand

Sounds slightly dodgy, doesn't it? Like a market stall for mail-order brides. It's actually the comparatively harmless away stand at Bristol City FC, where my dad and I found ourselves for Wednesday night's Carling Cup game.

Our Blast reporter at work (a form of extended, in-depth work experience) is a Bristol City fan, so if Man City lost this one, I wouldn't be going back to work. Ever. Simple as that.

Happily we squeaked through 2-1, but since then we've lost at Blackburn. This slow degradation in form is funny in its own way, because if you read the online forums for Manchester City, they mirror the ones for Reading I'm so used to browsing. One moment fans are delighted to high heaven with the team - the next, every thread posted to the board is doom and gloom. Sadly my old plan of supporting whichever team is doing better has gone up in smoke, as they're both currently crap.

Thursday: Simpsons Movie

Not bad at all, this, but it doesn't at any point feel remotely like you're watching a movie. You can get a longer helping of The Simpsons just by sitting down in front of Sky One on a Sunday night, so despite the big screen, it's a glorified session in front of the telly. Don't misunderstand me though; that's no bad thing. This was a quality way to spend the 90 minutes or so. I keep insisting to myself that I should go to the cinema more often, but I fear this may have been another false dawn, and to my utter chagrin, Harry Potter goes unwatched...

Earlier in the day I nipped into work to sort some things out. Like Scrabble on Facebook, for example:

Says it all really, but how addictive is this game? Half the office is surreptitiously scrabbling away during quiet moments or lunch breaks. I even discovered today that a colleague has started a game between her, myself, and the man who edited our Reading Festival website! It's somewhat odd to feel like Scrabble is being used to break down borders and build relationships. I've also had my first two ever seven-letter words. You cannot overestimate the joy that brought. For the record, my first time was "PIONEER", followed by "AMPULES". Get in.

Friday: The Bash

Our managing editor had her leaving do on Friday night. You know it's going to be good when there is spare room in "The Lodge", a sort of miniature hotel-like chain of buildings near the entrance at work, each housing a number of universty-accommodation-esque rooms.

Naturally I chose to wear an eight foot multi-coloured sombrero to the evening, and was delighted to find the sombrero and I in the company of the chairman of Reading FC and the man in charge of all local radio sport across the country. I'm sure I made a good impression. I managed a second potential You've Been Framed entrant in a week, too, when filming my friend Emma on my mobile while she was sporting my sombrero. She went for a couple of drunken spins on the dance floor, collapsed, and ended up propped against a table with the sombrero at an angle, akin to a sleeping Mexican in a Speedy Gonzales cartoon. Nine seconds of pure joy.

Great mirth on our Friday night sports show earlier that evening, too - it turns out fans aren't the only ones confused by last-day transfer deals before the transfer window shuts on the top football clubs in the country.

We had Reading's Glen Little in the studio. During the conversation the name of fellow midfielder Seol Ki-Hyeon was mentioned. "He's gone, hasn't he?", said Glen. "Er, no," replied our presenter, Tim. "Oh," said Glen. "Must be, er, wrong about that one then!"

Naturally, hours later, Seol had left the club. One can only assume the club had told the players earlier in the day and Glen hadn't realised they were keeping it quiet til the deal had properly gone through. It's nice to receive the occasional inadvertent tip-off!

Saturday: Gently Down The A4

Saturday, on paper, was a relaxing day: in work, but no bulletin or programme responsibilities to maintain, so just a website shift.

In practice I slaved away all morning, bombed down the A4 to record a piece about Maidenhead United's historic football ground for BBC London's new non-league show, then bombed it back to film my adopted rowing crew in their grand finale back in Reading.

They came third out of nine - a fine effort - and at the end, someone came round with a clipboard persuading all the novice competitors to sign up permanently. I have to confess I was sorely tempted to volunteer. The atmosphere at the rowing club was electric and the sense of camaraderie among all the members is amazing. I'm going to give it serious thought. How hard can it, er, be?

Speaking of rowing, Bristol City-supporting Chris had his trial for the World Class Start programme today (Sunday). Because of his height (a good six inches taller than me) he was singled out for the chance to try out for the phenomenally successful rowing programme, which has produced a succession of stars in recent years. He's had no previous rowing experience so today will have been interesting - the best bit is, he's recorded the whole lot, so you can hear how he got on this Friday from 6pm. Oh, and it's yours truly presenting.

On Saturday evening the family descended on The Bull at Bisham for Alice's birthday meal (she's 12). The Bull had lost the booking but put on a fine show, and the food was as good as is expected at what is a fine establishment. My dad, impressively, was only £2 out with his guess as to the final bill. I think he'd agree that's a sign he has too much experience in that place. The Maitre D' is one of the best in the business - makes you feel completely at home when you know full well he couldn't really give a toss... but he's just so nice...

Sunday: Barbecue On Ice

Getting up at 6am has become routine for Sundays but, for some reason, was sheer hell today. The morning passed off calmly enough but the whole day was really a preamble to the excitement of going to the home of the Slough Jets for a barbecue by their ice rink ahead ot the new season.

I had an enjoyable if slightly garbled and staccato conversation with their new Czech signing - who drove to Slough from the Czech Republic! - and discovered that the team's manager, Steve, once played (albeit briefly) for the New York Rangers back in the late 80s, scoring one goal in Philadelphia. That's good enough for me.

The best bit is that it looks like ice hockey commentary may be a realistic prospect. Whisper it quietly, since we need to iron out some of the technical side of things, but we just might be in a position to do a live commentary from the Jets' first game of the season this coming Saturday night. If so, you can spend your Saturday night by the computer, listening live... yep, knew you'd be thrilled. But well done for getting this far to the end of the post, eh! Normal service will resume, promise.