Flat pack:

It's not every week one hangs on a knife edge between solvency and debt to the tune of £100k. In other words, having given up on buying a place in Auld Reekie (it's not so much a property ladder here as a greasy pole), I've put in a note of interest on a flat over in the benighted west. My affable solicitor, who is clearly far more used to handling sums of money that make the eyes water than I am, assures me that there will a decision, for better or for worse, by the beginning of next week. Fingers crossed and buttocks clenched, I await his call.

What with interminable trips through to Glasgow to look at flat after flat, the week has shot by without leaving much of an impression on me. The highlights: Annabel and Antonio are both leaving imminently, so we headed along to the Cumberland for some pints and reminiscing; for Father's Day la famille had a sedate Sunday lunch in the tourist heaven/resident hell of South Queensferry, and on Tuesday night we went out with Josh, up for a few days from the Big Smoke.

Josh filled me in on what sounds like a worthy successor to 2005's Berlin trip and we meandered onto rather more geekish ground, as is our nerdy wont. He waxed lyrical about the virtues of Facebook for a while, but I must admit I can't see the attraction. At this point I'd normally start on a gentle, nostalgic rant about the good old days of the more informal web, but I have to catch a bus for the first leg of our long-overdue summer holiday. Adieu!