This morning I cleared a lot of the rubbish that has accumulated on my desk. There was the usual pile of bank statements that I never file, but endlessly push from one of the desk to the other, also bits and pieces of work and several hundred assorted port-it notes that have lost their tack and adhered to piles of paper and/or grime under everything else. At least now I can see what I'm meant to be working on.

I spoke to Dan today - he called before lunch just for a general chat and some business speak. I've been following my own agenda again today, and spent some time trying to locate a suitable Out of Africa themed costume for Saturday. I eventually found a safari suit, nice and conveniently located in Cotteridge which is a forty minute drive away. At least I got some practise in, but it took a good couple of hours out of the day.

One observation I did make was that the shop, Pinnochio's, is run by two strange ageing ladies. Not that this is any great thing on it's own, but is it a coincidence that the one in Lufbra is run by almost identical people? Is it a legal requirement? Do you have to have two slightly strange women in order to make sure business remains constant? Is it a proven formula for success in the 'suggestively titled props and costumes, but not using the trademarked names in order to avoid a lawsuit' market?

I find this practise quite amusing. Instead of buying an Austin Powers set of wonky teeth, you buy a 'Groovy Sixties Goofy Teeth' pack. Instead of a Pat Sharpe wig, you buy a '80's Style Pat Wig'. There are many other gaudily packaged plastic trash items. all make on a pittance but sold at extortionate prices. Anyone who has ever been to a fancy dress shop will be familiar with this pink and blue labelling, each adorned with a photo of a rather sad looking model (no doubt realising this point marks the end of their credible career) dressed in a rather unconvincing outfit; not doubt very similar to what I shall look like when I turn up to Jon's party in my safari suit. Photo will be supplied.

After arriving back in Stourbridge, The Mother and I went for food at the newly refurbished 'The Old Wagon & Horses' out towards Kidderminster. It's the first time we've been in years, and definitely the first time since they gutted and revamped the place. I remember summer nights there a few years back when we would go, enjoy moderately priced food and lap up the atmosphere of a summer afternoon or evening. Now the menu is a little more pricey, but the food did match the cost and I was impressed. The only thing I can't stop thinking is that who eats at these places now? Less than a mile down the road The Crown at Iverley is very much the same. Looks like all our friendly country pubs are being turned into Trendy New Wine Bars. While there we bumped into the sister of an ex-primary school mate of mine (Amy) serving at the bar, and looking pretty hot. It's strange that she is the only one we run into as I can't ever recall seeing Cathy, or in fact most of my class from St Joseph's, since I left way back in 1996.

After food I drove into Oldswinford to meet up for a drink with Tom Roberts. I had no idea who else was going to show, but Liam, John and Tom's mate Andy made an appearance. We talked our usual talk over the first drink, before deciding that due to the fact the only drink on was Foster's, that we would head down to The Crispin to finish the evening.

It's not the first time I've been back in since we nearly got banned at Christmas, but it was the first time I had to re-encounter the bar maid who so nearly dealt out the deed. The place has changed, and we sat in a corner I've never sat in before. Exactly not like old times.

I was really disturbed to hear one of my favourite teachers from school has been taken ill and shockingly lost most of his speech. This former English teacher of mine was definitely one of the most eloquently spoken men I know, and his quick wit and amusing (put-on) fantastical self-appreciation is second to none amongst the staff.

Forgive the nostalgia, but some of the funniest class moments occurred under the direction of Johnny Blaze (as he is nicknamed by us). I will not forget how he told James he was not permitted to leave the class to pick up his homework that he had forgotten, and so would be punished instead. He then allowed Chris to go to the toilet who two minutes later was walking past the outside window, clearly going back to pick up his forgotten work. James protested that Chris was going back to pick up the work, Johnny declared it 'Initative'.

His claims to fame include that he has worked in Whitehall before becoming a teacher, scanning foreign newspapers for clues towards communist activities. This led to a false identity being created for him, and that he was in fact, a spy. He played up to this role and when quizzed claimed he was part of MI7, an organisation so secret that MI5 and MI6 didn't even know about it. When asked why he told anyone and surely this would give the game away, he simply would reply, "It doesn't matter that I tell you because you don't believe me; it's the best cover I have".

His watch was also meant to be fitted with an array of gadgets (which unfortunately we never witnessed) and anyone who doubted his wisdom was labelled a 'fool'. He is meant to have created a word that now is in the dictionary, and even if this isn't true, the use of phrases such as "Illegal peregrination" to describe walking around during prep, or "Illegal intra-window communication" referring to conversations going on between boys in different rooms through windows during prep, have never been bettered by any.

The most enduring memory though is that this is the man who MC'd my interviews at the pre-OSH stage of my school life, then over the three years that he taught me how to write properly (even if I'm a little patchy now) and which gave me a fantastic interest in the English language. This is despite when he allotted roles for class-readouts for Shakespeare he would always claim Brutus and/or Caesar and/or Marc Anthony for himself, while everyone else became first guard, second guard or Portia, the wife (all the crap roles, as he felt no one of us would be able to do them justice).

I really hope it is no where near as bad as it sounds and hope he makes a good recovery. Just one of the teachers from there for whom I have real admiration for.

By 11am this morning I was on the train to Solihull, and it promised to be another scorching day, which it was. Summered out to-the-max I was brandishing all the usual kit for my trip; the software upgrade, my iPod and my camera. This time I also took along my A4 notebook, as I thought the train might be a good place to unload my brain onto paper.

It took about an hour to sort out the stuff at Le Scarpe and then I was free to do what I please. This is one of the great things about my lines of business; and that is I don't have to be too concerned about when I do the work as most people fit around me. For example I was allowed to turn up at any point during office hours, and this meant I was afforded the luxury of being indoors for the hottest part of the day, then free to browse the city at my own leisure. I didn't hang about in Solihull for long. Although the place is nice and the standard of girls is higher than most other places in the West Midlands, I was lured away by the big buildings and the call of a Subway in Brum.

I had been pleasantly surprised my return ticket had cost me just under three quid on the Young Persons Railcard. I swear the cost changes every few minutes, but I'm not complaining. Last time I travelled I think it cost me at least four. However, my luck was about to change on the money front, and after pointing out to the lady in the card shop that she had overcharged me by two pounds on a four pound purchase, I was eventually caught out in Subway where I was too concerned about whether they had diluted the Tango this time around to realise they had conned me out of two quid there. Clearly the world was conspiring against me following my initial success at Stourbridge Junction ticket office.

I nosed around central Birmingham for a while - Waterstones, Victoria Square, New Street, The Bull Ring - all the usual haunts and eventually made my way back to Moor Street where I basked in the UV until my train came in. I gave the parents a call when I arrived back in order to arrange some transport back from the station, but failed to get through and decided to walk, which wasn't such a bad idea anyway. It was at this point that I remembered that I had forgotten to ask about the iPod replacement thing at the Apple store. In fact I had forgotten about the Apple store all together. Damn. My poor old pod is now only pumping out less than four hours of music before slipping away into it's I Refuse To Work state. Rubbish.

Other projects went on hold today, but will be resumed tomorrow. During this time I also have to locate a stockist of a safari suit or something similar as Jon's party is scarily close. Hmmm. I also need to bleach my hair again.

I've managed to commandeer the family fan. Like most objects in the Higgs Family household where there is a demand, we more than satisfy the concept of 'undersupply'. For a long time it has been a running joke in our circles about the whereabouts and the use of the 'Family Knife', which we share about until everyone has the pleasure of it's use at the table. Currently I am running the aforementioned fan at setting 3 (a.k.a. the slowest) in order minimise the noise and avoid an unwanted detection and possible requisition of the equipment, after all, if it is felt that I am monopolising the cool air, then that would be grounds for a reprimand. Well, not really, but people would start complaining anyway.

In terms of sheer people touched by me today (in a non-sexual way) there have been many. I spent the hours immediately following the mid-morning trip to MFI, putting my affairs in order, phoning around, accepting incoming calls and making correspondence. There were also one or two invoices flying about in there. I am a championing a work ethic that would make Branson cry. However, there is time for rest too, and I've also been for a drive, watched some TV and done some lazing about in the garden. I even cooked dinner (a BBQ naturally, the only time I leap at the thought of food preparation).

Tomorrow I am making the bi-annual trip to see Jayne in Solihull. Jayne is my longest-standing client, and I have now been working for her in some capacity or other for five whole years. She is the only client that I supply software to (a remnant of a GCSE project that turned into something bigger), but I also created her website (in it's second incarnation now) and enjoy the trips more than on any other business I do. Maybe it's the fact it gives me a chance to do some of my work face-to-face and out of 'the office'. In fact, I'm sure it is.

It also means I get the chance for a quick perusal around the great city that is Brum either on the way there or on the way back. While I'm on the train it should give me some thinking time, and in my world, I always need time for thinking. The agenda for tomorrow is to figure out what exactly I will be going to Jon's party dressed as. The second item is to figure out how I shall achieve this great feat, and the third but totally unrelated task is to pluck from the air some great idea for my major project next year.

I've attempted to work out what I need to get next year in order to achieve various levels of standing amongst fellow graduates. I've worked out that this year I've averaged a 63% (or near enough). This accounts for 40% of my degree, so by my calculations thats around 25% of the lot in the bag. In order to achieve a first next year I think I'd be aiming for a final year average of 75% or so. This realistically is not going to happen. In order to get a 2.1 (which is more my kind of drift) I should need about 65% I think. All this said though, and my maths has always been on the shaky side of unstable, plus these are formulae derived by myself (rearranging equations notably a point faible) and rough estimates at that, so all in all the figures mean nothing. I'll get Swanny to look at it; he's good with stuff like this and it's free.

One thing that has annoyed me slightly, but isn't as bad as I first thought is that my bank have sent my new card to the branch in Lufbra. This, of course, is an inconvenience as I am currently residing in The 'Bridge. Hopefully I will manage to get up there before they decide to turn it into a plastic chip-n-pin jigsaw. My concern had be caused by the virtue that I thought that with all the cracking security they have in place my old card would have been already made void, but it turns out I have until the end of the month to spend uncontrollably on the net.

On an another unrelated tangent, I've just installed a funny little fractal generator called Apophysis. It's free and I'd never heard of it until half an hour ago, but it does some fairly fantastical stuff like the included picture. I think it may keep me amused for a while.

Considering it's one minute to midnight, it's frickin' boiling. If there is one down side to hot weather, it's definitely the nights. I'm not even moving and yet it's too hot to contemplate getting up to find the fan. Despite this desire to stay still, I have made waves today.

The Father got me involved in the beginning stages of what is the next Higgs Family project; the self assembly wardrobes for the parents room. Considering the loathing associated with this sort of task, I am actually quite fond of the process. Having to figure out what goes where, then ending up with some credible looking piece of furniture (even if it isn't the most aesthetically pleasing object) there is a certain sense of satisfaction that harks back to the days of Lego. Before I finally got to old for it, every morning I would rush downstairs to the front room before primary school, flick on the TV (quietly, as 6am was too early for anyone, including me nowadays) and would start flinging those bricks and blocks and struts and panels about like nobodies business until I had the most awesomeist of helicopters or hovercrafts or warships or planes or cranes or automobiles. Loved it. I think I used to dream in red, blue, white and yellow rectangles. Sometimes I still do.

I also managed to collar Sister Two's boyfriend, Rich, for some help with my latest of projects. The world of print is something pretty new to me, and for all my jargon and technical tit-bits, my applied knowledge leaves something to be desired. In steps Rich who works for his parents at 'the Firm' which is a full scale litho-press. CYMK and all the rest. With some print projects nearly at pre-press I decided to get some well needed advice on what's what and the true technical details of what I need to do to make 3000 beautiful glossy brochures (or however many they need). It's good to get some input, and it looks like I maybe getting a free proof which is really great and will save a few quid. Cheers Rich.

The strange thing is, that all these print projects come to the fore now, just as I'm getting to know a couple of people in the trade. Turns out that our new next door neighbour earns his keep that way too, and although I haven't had a chance to quiz him about anything yet, at some stage I will probably need to usurp some knowledge.

The Mother has supplied me with some trainer socks. I hope these ones don't vanish as fast at the previous sets. I have a couple of theories about where they got to; the first being that the Sisters have masterminded some plan to leave me barefeet and stolen them, however this loses credibility quickly when I realise they spend most of their time telling me to put some socks or shoes on to cover the smell. The second theory, well, there isn't a second theory yet, and I don't mind it being that way. Just as long as I'm not subject to the same pain as I was last time when I lost so many socks in so little time.

The IdeasFactory Creative Class 2005/6 has been announced. Admittedly it was a few days ago, but I forgot to check. I knew that my entry wasn't selected as a winning one a while back, but I did get some nice feedback on my works from Matt Clugston from Clusta web design. Strangely, I had a random appreciation from a site visitor vis-a-vis my portfolio not so long ago. It's really nice to get feedback like that, especially when you're not expecting it.

Look at this, it's so Windows 1885...

I phoned James earlier. I thought I better had remind him we are going on holiday together in a few weeks, and since I last spoke to him properly at Easter, there was every chance he might have forgot. It turns out he hadn't (funnily enough) but he had gone to bed as Simon explained to me on the phone. After I'd successfully woken him and dragged him to the phone, we small talked for a while then fixed a day to meet up and go through the remainder of the travel plans. All sorted.

And now I need some sleep myself.

As I peered out from under the covers, I noticed it was just gone 7.30am. I had been woken by a knock at the door. I let the parents get it, and quickly went back to sleep. I won't let this kind of nonsense disturb a perfectly good lie in.

Turns out that it was the postman, and that the parcel he was brandishing was a delivery for me. At 7.30 the thought had crossed my mind that it could be personal, but I wasn't awake enough to appreciate what the contents could have been, and with no hard and fast incentive, I left it to chance and dropped off again.

Three hours later and the parcel contained a brief, a CD and a draft brochure. More than enough to keep me busy for a while. It's for a company called Tours4, and they need some promotional literature doing. I like straight forward projects like this and made a start this morning.

However, there were other things to be done too and so after having a quick play around with some ideas for it, The Mother and I went out for a drive, some lunch, some shopping and another drive back. For a while I let Mother go off and pick up the food while I waited in Staples as I needed to pick up a new portfolio case, some spray mount and some markers. Unfortunately Mother must have got rather carried away with the whole affair, as by the time she turned up I had been able to carry out a pretty in-depth analysis of every product in the store. Although Staples can at times be an interesting place (until you find the thing you want), after forty five minutes it has lost all sense of appeal.

Upon arriving back I did some more paid stuff, and the parents left me to sort out my own diner as they were off to the Cutler's for cocktails and canapes before the annual Captain's Dinner down at the golf club. Once again, good weather prevails and I sat outside to eat. It was at this point in time something struck me. It's early/mid July. At this time of year it is nice to sit outside to eat, except for one thing, and that is the scurge that is wasps. However I haven't seen a single wasp this year. Not that I'm complaining, this is fantastic. Hopefully they have found that Antarctica is more 'their thing' this time of year and decide to expatriate themselves permanently.

Arrangements have been made for (great) Uncle Stanley and (great) Auntie Judy to visit. This is a very rare occurrence (the last time I can remember was immediately after Nanna's death which was in... 1998... so that means seven years since). It's a bit nonsensical really as they only live an hour away. We have seen them, but it always happens on their turf normally, so this will make for a bit of a change. In order to a vague idea of who I'm going on about, Uncle Stanley is my mother's uncle on her mother's side. He used to be a goldsmith and made one of the Olympic torches for the 1948 games in London. Auntie Judy, his wife, is a watercolour painter (ex-architect) and is really rather good at it. It will be good to see them (it's been over a year).

Finally one thing which caught my attention recently is the new Oasis track and video, The Importance of Being Idle. Well worth a watch if you can find it.

Laziness truly shone through this morning and I didn't arise until twelve. In an attempt to compensate for my lack of activity, I speedily got up, had some lunch and set about being generally useful.

The Mother collared me fairly early and managed to to persuade me to help out planting the runner beans. Not the keenest of gardeners, I reluctantly agreed, but went outside and spent the next hour and a half developing a range of different sizes of blisters all over my hands.

After getting thoroughly wet and caked in mud, I came back inside and spent the rest of the daylight before food whipping up some digital versions of the sketched logos for the MM project. As I hadn't seen much in the way of people in the past few days I organised to meet up with Liam for a drink. I also tried Tom and John, but both had prior engagements, so our crowd just consisted of us two and Mike.

Stories were swapped and the usual pub conversations passed - possibly a little less politics than normal with the two absentees, but I was good to catch up, despite managing to keep Mike waiting for the best part of forty minutes due to fluid conversation in the Kendrick household beforehand.

Once back, a bit of culture (Later with Jools Holland) before bed. It couldn't have been any more of an ordinary day. One thing I have noticed though is people clearly think this place has gone. Ever since the server fireworks shenanigans of a few days back the visiting rate has certainly dropped. Hopefully people will start to realise it was only a temporary respite and now have full access to this drivel again.

One last thing; which is more worth while - a digital camera upgrade, or an iPod upgrade? At the moment the former is looking the safer bet, but who knows, that colour screen and three-times-as-large-capacity is looking all too tempting. Hmm.

I could have written an entry nearly thirteen hours ago, but due to various reasons this did not occur. I have been wondering all day if it is totally irreverent, or indeed simply overwhelming repetition to discuss what has happened today but can't help feeling I have to consider it in some light, one way or another.

It was my usual routine this morning. I swung out of bed at about 10ish and poked the power button on the WDM with my big toe. I loaded up Firefox and as usual I scanned the morning headlines (I find Yahoo UK gives good enough a cross between the serious enough issues to the ones that are more sublime). This is when I found out.

It is really strange to consider that less than 24 hours before hand I had felt enormous jubilation at the fact London had just picked up the biggest prize of all. At the time I felt odd that I should be expressing any emotion at all except for some level of excitement, but I was genuinely moved. Then this morning after reading the initial reports on Yahoo, I immediately attempted to load up BBC News, which for the second time in 24 hours was overwhelmed and had overloaded. After a few minutes I eventually got the page up, and it was at this point I gathered my first perspective of the morning's events. I quickly dressed and headed downstairs to view the Live coverage (the online streams were overstretched).

As with all major news stories in the UK, the BBC had cancelled the morning schedules and was broadcasting News 24 on BBC One. I felt physically choked. I watched on my own for a while, then headed back upstairs and really dwelt on what had happened. Although entirely detached, I wasn't surprised. I think everyone new that some kind of terrorist event was inevitable, and with hindsight, it was so perfectly timed.

No one else in my house knew until much later. There were plenty of opportunities for me to mention it as I passed my sister and my parents around the house, but it wasn't until about 11.30am until I actually managed to stomach the resolve to tell my Dad that there had been a number of bombings in central London and that he ought to see the news. He went downstairs to watch.

I was amazed that I felt so much emotion about this event, and when I recapped in my mind, similar events in Madrid two years ago had left very little in the way of an impression on myself. Yet this was the same. This was highlighted even further when this evening I watched the discussion on QuestionTime, and a Rwandan woman tearfully raised the point, why is the loss of a Westerner's life any more worthy of public outpouring than a African one? Mindless terrorism, violence and atrocities are all too common there and in Dafur. Why is it that until now I haven't empathised, and why is it that this event bears so much on us personally, when yet it carries so little bearing when it happens on another continent or in another country?

By lunchtime things were clearer in my mind, and I was taking a more pragmatic approach to what I was seeing. I occupied myself with cutting the new carpet for the downstairs toilet, taking a couple of drives to the tip to drop off some rubbish, getting a hair cut and then lunch itself. By now most of the incorrect reports were being discarded and they knew now how many blasts had occurred, where they had happened and what was being done. I sat down with Dad to watch Blair's emotional first statement, then decided not to watch any more until there was a reasonable update on the information.

So I escaped and made a few phone calls to clients, dealt with my mail and drafted some new logos in The Big Red Ideas Book for a new project that I've been commissioned to produce some branding on called 'MM'. Sister One and Sister Two both had some art work up and on display at their school exhibition, so after I'd completed all my odds and ends, I took the car out for another spin, and me, Sister Two and the Mother went to inspect the work. It was fairly mixed stuff (One & Two's work was amongst the best) but there were some nice sculptural and textile based pieces on display.

Upon arriving home (and Sister Two leaving us to go and fraternise with the boyfriend), The Mother decided it would be a good idea to eat out as we were both looking to avoid cooking. Enter the third trip of day (I've really been clocking up the mileage) to the OK Diner for some American-style eating.

And back to the TV. I don't know why it is, but for some reason the Breaking News ticker on the BBC is to me like a luminous purple light to a fly, and I compulsively have to watch until I realise I've been watching the same regurgitated rubbish several times over. I then take a break, and within the hour I'm back checking for more news. Same thing happened when the Queen Mum died and on 9/11.

And that led to an evening of television. I wasn't actively seeking analysis of the week's extraordinary events, but that's what I got - QuestionTime from Johannesburg then This Week. Quite a few perspectives were banded about. One was that this is a sign that we are "Winning the war on terror", by virtue of the fact nothing on the scale of the New York attacks has occurred since. On the other hand it was also suggested that it would have been possible to have experienced so many giant events this week, from the Live 8 concert, to the VE day celebrations, to the Olympic bid victory to the tragedy today, and the possibility that there may be people who have been in the midst of all these events. This certainly is going to be remembered as The Week That Was.