Friday morning seems like a long time ago, but I meet my friend Nick for breakfast; Nick is a pal who is responsible for Ireland's pension scheme and he is worried. Ireland in a bad way and their economy sharply off-rail following years of tax-incentives, property build-ups and financial leveragings. Nick notes that the US has committed $22 trillion of stim-u-lus and will need more - indeed, our government now hiding the costings but using FDIC money - about $100 billion then levered six times, to deal with the toxis. FDIC funds meant to protect depositors, of course, and more importantly: off balance-sheet, away from Congressional approvals. Oh dear. From Nick, breakfast again with Natalie and Sonnet+parents at The Wolseley. Everybody is there it seems, including Tim Taylor who we saw the evening before and learned about his gallery next to the Connaught. No doubt, his audience of middle-aged high-fliers in a world of hurt and Tim, too, must be running scared. My hero John Botts is there also and I say a quick hello - his LBO firm my first job in London. From there, Sonnet and I actually have two hours to ourselves as kids in football camp - and it makes me think how strange life will be when the Shakespeares gone. God only knows what I may do with myself and I get a bit teary eyed thinking of it. But then I see Sonnet making brownies and it will all be OK. Oh boy. From our peaceful time, we pick up Eitan and Madeleine and away to Bath.

Madeleine, crossly: "You just think you're dad so you can toss us about."

I ask Madeleine to say something in French. She, loudly: "Crap!" which silences the restaurant (she means to say "crepe.")

I ask Madeleine how she has learned to count from one to ten in French. Madeleine: "In Spanish class?"

Eitan cries real tears of disappointment as Everton defeats Manchester United in penalty kicks. Wails Eitan: "Berbatov did not even try."