I was most disappointed that the bouncer on Friday night failed to see the parallels between the GCHQ whistleblower case and letting me into a bar after they'd called last orders. I mean, it's minor illegallity (pff) versus moral correctness, isn't it? Taking a stand again the Man's rules and doing what's demanded by common decency. Right?

Somebody back me up here.

The night started off with a meal in Nargile with Dave, Michelle, Lee (Dave's flatmate), Kate and Laura, a friend of hers. Cue rapid consumption of wine and kebabs, and excellent chat: fried gold it was, fried gold. After the meal, Kate and Laura headed off and the rest of us took to the Café Royal. About this time I got a couple of text messages - first from Devon and then Annabel:

• Devon: "Siglo, baby. SIGLO. There is POLE DANCING"
  
• Annabel: "Hurry the fuck up. I hate this place."
  

Siglo is a truly awful neon-lit ned-magnet. I promised I'd be round in twenty minutes, and then spent the next hour failing to leave the Café Royal and by the time I got there, they'd closed the bar. See above for details. So, once everyone had drunk up and come out to meet me, we had a few more drinks over some table football and then came home. All in all, a good night and not, for a change, an overly fermented one.

I spent most of Saturday trying to make my PC talk to a Logitech webcam (all in the name of art. I'll explain once I actually get it to work) with frustratingly little success. Still, the evening was nicely sedate: Neil had come over that afternoon, and he, Jeff and I had a few quiet pints in the Maltings.

Sunday was split in equal measures between fun (a drive out to Gullane with Kate for a walk along the beach, a pub lunch and an irresponsible hoon back to Edinburgh), irritation (more webcam problems) and incredulity (the first couple of hours of the Oscars).

And now, dear diary, to work. Or at least searching the web for Logitech webcam FAQs.