So, midway through fixing the crack in my teeth, the dentist notices another fissure in the same tooth: this could crack at any time, he says. I'm going to try and break it...

NB He tried his best, briefly, but couldn't, thank goodness.

Cycling through the wind and wet this morning, and having just finished a disappointing Philip K Dick book the previous night, was ruminating on the "Culture" sci-fi books of Iain (M.) Banks.

Read the first one, Consider Phlebas, on hols in 2002: exciting, grisly in parts, and crying out to be filmed. Second one, The Player Of Games, was much more laid back but still well worthwhile. Didn't get one with the third one, Use Of Weapons, at all: two narratives, one going forwards in time, the other going backwards.

That second book, I was thinking, required more thinking about than the first. It was more... what's that word beginning with "C"? Collateral? Cohesive?

Finally came to me towards the end of my peddling (oops, pedalling): cerebral. Early onset?

Four words: Sainbury's maple syrup bagels.

Makes a very pleasant change from my usual cinnamon & raisin to accompany the mid-morning caffeine shot. Can only hope that someone else buys them apart from me.

Saturday night, we're both tired, and I've nearly finished my nightly chore of loading the cutlery, mugs and plates. Meanwhile GLW is attending to her own chore of corralling the kittens kitchenwards. But she can only find one of the furballs - and that's when we heard the miaowing from the dishwasher...

We opened the cupboard under the sink and the tin cupboard, but there was that cat cry again, apparently from within the Bosch. Which, thankfully, hadn't yet been turned on.

Definitely no kitten inside, among the pots & pans. And then we discovered the space underneath, or rather the lack of it. Somewhere towards the back of this nestled a discombobulated black cat, doing his best impression of Danny The Tunnel King.

He/she (we're not quite sure) emerged later in his/her own good time, having not been tempted by the fresh can of tuna that had mostly been devoured by his/her sibling. Ah, the joys of pet ownership.

Glorious Sunday at Walberswick. Inevitable queue to park tho' mightily impressed by the efficiency of the yellow-vested attendants, one even cycling around hunting down that elusive space.

Sausage, not bhaji, on the beach, plus an inflatable shark and tunnelling under the sand: competitive dad does sandcastles.

Headed off late afternoon to find the ice-cream van still doing well - I had the oyster perpetual - then down the coast to go and stand in line at the famed Aldeburgh chippy. Lovely thick chips and fresh cod with mushy pea accompaniment, washed down with dandelion & burdock. Doesn't get much better.

And I'll burn forever
I can't face the shame
--- Muse, Sunburn

Only when taking off my shirt that night did I discover that I'd stupidly failed to splash some Soltan on my lower back. As Spud says, "stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Four days later it's pimpling up nicely.

Was greatly looking forward to tonight's CSI on C5: this was to be the double episode directed by Quentin Tarantino, and described in last week's Guide as "one of the sickest things he's ever done". Shame then that it was put back to next week. Oh well, the anticipation builds still further.

Instead watched a terrific West Wing episode from season 2 featuring Roger Rees as the eccentric British ambassador and a failed Star Wars-type test: they missed the incoming ICBM by only 137 miles. They'll be throwing vegan food at me, Charlie.

Am rather proud of ticking off item 17 from my NY resolutions list:

"bike to work for a solid fortnight in the summer"

Achieved this w/b 27-June (hot) and w/b 4-July (wet, then dull), perhaps aided by a recent purchase from Lidl, a 100% polyester yellow jersey for £5.99. As we used to say back in the '80s, no sweat.

Now toying with the idea of attempting to stay on two wheels throughout July. I've had my puncture for this period, a mile or so from home on Friday, and the nice man in the cycle shop not only fitted a new inner tube and improved the brakes, he also filled the tires with a liquid that's meant to minimise the chances of this happening again.

Like Dr. Peter Venkman, I've been slimed.

Broom Acres has been petless for a while. Which has been fine by me, unfeeling male that I am.

Until Friday that is, when the two latest incumbents arrived. Grey-ish one on the right is Misty, and the dark one is Snowy: it's ironic, apparently. They're two sisters, though even the vet can't be sure about one of them.

These tiny rat-like creatures can be excused for leaving the door ajar since they were, literally, born in a barn.

London's got the Olympics - in the coffee lounge at lunchtime, there was even a handful of sweets, gratis, on each of the tables - Geldof's gone to Gleneagles to GR8 the G8, and my cycling clothing has dried out nicely in the server room.

I was going to add that the sun's out too, but it turned out to be no more than a cameo appearance.

Quick mention for a fella who lit up an overcast day on Felixstowe prom yesterday, one Johnny Depp, the juggling pirate.

Had me and the kids enthralled for 20 mins with an impromptu performance, inc. an albino cannonball spun on his finger and some accomplished five ball technique. Impressive skills & slapstick and some even silkier patter. Liked his gift of a yellow balloon sculpture to a young volunteer ("Is your name Ben Sherman? What are you doing with his shirt?"), asking the lad, "what's your favourite colour in the whole wide yellow?". Blue, came the reply.

Like Sir Bob, he didn't want money either. Top unexpected entertainment.

I think it went pretty well on Saturday, given the sheer scale of it. Sure, the timing went a little awry, and maybe the language was a little choice on occasions, and yep, the clean-up operation took a while. The important thing was that those who attended enjoyed themselves, going home tired & happy. And that's all you can ask of a 5-year-old's birthday party.

Live 8 was great too, of course. They didn't want my money, though I still felt better having bought a couple of M.P.H. white bands in Oxfam earlier that day. Also good karma to download the live and fresh Sgt Pepperlater that evening.

My own highlight: the venerable Pink Floyd. As the event wore on and the list of acts still to play scrolled along the bottom of the screen, their long-awaited (re)appearance was getting no closer. Then suddenly, post Robbie and Roger D, there was Rick and Roger W. Us on the sofa were transfixed for the next 20 minutes, smiles on faces, willing that sound not to end.

Credit to the BBC cameraman for that long shot of Battersea Power Station. And as Waters dedicated Wish You Were Here to, among others, Syd Barrett, we wondered if he might be watching somewhere in Cambridge. Hey, I know those guys in the dry ice.

Did you know that today is Canada Day? Can't say I would have done, but my CPF Mr Avi Kniznik, motormouth and megalomaniac masterchef, is doing a thing at Carrot Cake today & tomorrow: pop along, get well fed, and do your bit for charity. Everyone wins.