Friday 1st October

K is off on her little trip to America this afternoon – meaning that she has the time to spend the morning pottering about the flat and, more importantly, fixing me a rather special farewell breakfast before I trundle off to work. Taking a deep breath and preparing myself for 6 days of near solitude, we say goodbye and I make my way to the office – where I spend the later part of the afternoon watching the rather compelling flightaware.com website, which allows me to track K's flight from gate to runway. It's hard not to keep checking it – and fun to think I can keep an eye on where she is while she's in such an abstract space as “somewhere over the Atlantic”. As the plane takes off at 16.31, it's odd to think that she won't be in San Francisco until eight tomorrow morning.

After work I head down to Turnpike Lane station and meet up with Alex, with vague plans to head into town and see what adventures we can have in the West End. As it happens the first place we go is The Cock, where we waste a couple of pints' time trying to remember the name and origin of a very famous tune we are both capable of humming. We ask other people around us, who also know the song but not the name – and it's another couple of hours and another couple of pubs before we give up. The tune in question is, in fact, La Habanera from the opera Carmen. But knowledge of this makes the earworm no less irritating.

After leaving Soho we head to Leicester Square station and make our way to Holloway Road for late night drinks. The place is packed but we find a stool and chatter away aimlessly until 1am and make our way to the stop for the 29. The bus ride starts OK – but Alex takes it upon herself to get into a fight with a young Spanish girl who gives her a dirty look for allegedly standing in the way of her conversation – on a busy nightbus. Alex is probably in the right here, but I take steps to come between her and the Spanish girl. No one needs this kind of hassle. Though it is quite funny.