A number of things are bothering me right now: my new credit card has n't arrived - it was supposed to be sent to where I work yesterday; then the carpet fitters have n't finished laying the carpet in the common areas where I live, and it looks a mess, particularly around my front door, where there's a tongue of carpet curling upwards that has to be trimmed, or I'll keep falling over it.

But the big one, the elephant that I can see in the room - is my utter lack of decent clothes. Any clothes really. Not got a thing, a shirt, a button, a jacket, pair of trousers, shoes. Nothing. I could n't even wrap a towel around myself; they're as frayed and threadbare as everything else.

Christ, I'm must be a sight boarding the Tube, or heading to the shops, I should ring a handbell...but redemption, I do smell nice. L'Occitan en Provence, thou art my saviour here. Untold prayers.

Still, I did get a heartlifting moment walking back to the office from Liverpool Street this afternoon. I ran into one of the G20 protests (to be honest I did want to see them - there are other ways of reaching the office), a mass sit down cum cook-out cum mini tent city just up the road from the growing Heron Tower.

In that great heaving, impromptu mass of people and passions, and ideas that will eventually become mainstream, was the nucleus of the next generation of new leaders, opinion-formers, thinkers, writers, film-makers, bubbling away growing by the moment. Democracy in motion, haphazard, raw, sometimes angry, always engaged, sincere and thoughtful. Wonderful.