It's a chalk-bright afternoon and I've been walking, listening to music all day the last few days. This helps - no one assumes you can hear them, with the headphones on, so no one speaks to you. This is good. I don't understand the language very well. When I want to hear the sounds around me, I switch the player off but leave the headphones on. I smile a lot. People smile back. Are people happier everywhere else in the world? Sure seems so.

But I know it's not the truth. I was in a bar, talking to a man my age. He'd been through three wars before he was 21. "Why are men so horrible to each other?" I asked, naive.

"In my experience all people are horrible."

"So why are we this way?"

"We don't know how else to be." And we were quiet. He finished a drink, smiled at my guidebook. It was a smile that said, 'Where do you want to go? You know you won't find it in there.' Not that I've used it very much anyway, I like to choose a direction and keep going. In this way I found the Jewish quarter, decimated and abandoned forever ago, like a forgotten film set, and the edge of the water, which I hadn't figured as being quite so close. His smile, it was so understanding, so accepting, I could feel the waves of goodwill just pouring off him, mixed with a little pity for me.

That, or he may have just been trying to pick me up. We girls have an absolutely appalling reputation abroad. Was there a pamphlet distributed in the last decade to men in foreign countries saying that the small islanders are simply gagging for it?

(I mean, I am, but yo, I'm on holiday, creep. So lay off.)

Greetings from a foreign location...

I have seen a cathedral and acquired a sunburn, drunk the local tipple and taken many, many pictures of flowers bright and exotic. It took almost a whole day to get here and I´m not keen to leave, in spite of my ineptitude with the language. I have forgotten how much I want to live somewhere sunny. There is a plane beginning the journey home at some point early next week; not certain if I will be on it or not.

Note to self, on returning home watch Shirley Valentine again.

Weather is pleasant, wish you were here -

Bxx

You may have noticed I am spending more time out of town than in it. The current good weather in London is pleasant and welcome, but an unfortunate case of too little, too late. I am packing again - knickers (all varieties), books (Dodsworth, My Name is Asher Lev, some silly crime thrillers and the ever-reliable Princess Bride) and sunblock.

In search of beaches. Will report back with detailed analysis of several of the locations discussed yesterday.

Escape hatches - a brief consideration.

Kyle of Tongue. Pros: favoured by child molesters and lovers of cold weather. They clearly go for the fantastic scenery. Cons: bleak isn't the word. What can you say about a place where the incoming tide swallows up the main road?

Home counties. Pros: so soul-destroying, so boring, so obviously bad, that no one would think their new neighbour is me. Cons: so soul-destroying, so boring, so obviously bad, that no one would think their new neighbour is me.

West country. Pros: dairy products, moors, beaches. Pasties. Ponies. Dreamily gazing at bronzed surfers in summertime. Cons: while the trains go there, am not certain they come back.

North America. Pros: charming accent might attract general goodwill, free drinks. Cons: am frightened by the concept of Texas.

South America. Pros: sunshine, interesting food, mountains. Cons: rumoured expatriate contingent of Nazis in hiding may prove constricting to social life.

Australia and environs. Pros: a few acquaintances, rumoured good weather, decent confectionery. Cons: rumoured expatriate contingent of Brits in hiding may prove constricting to social life.

The Med. Pros: excellent weather, superlative food, inexpensive housing, reasonable entertainment possibilities and not terribly far from home. Cons: Costa del Croydon is not quite the vibe I'm after.

Fulham. Pros: the transport links are decent. Cons: what does it say about a place if the ease of escaping is its highest selling point?

Israel. umm, no. Just... no.

East Anglia. Pros: good beer. Oh, I don't half fancy a pint of IPA on a sunny afternoon. Cons: aesthetically displeasing 'bump' bit of map.

Africa. Pros: no idea. Cons: once I had a client from Zimbabwe. It doesn't sound like a terribly nice place at the moment.

New York. Pros: extremely menschy. Cons: if television is to be believed, pressure to meet and mate is all-consuming. I am the alpha stiletto-wearing, lingerie-obsessed, Pulitzer-reading female here and competition could be disheartening. Particularly if the quarry is an unemployed finance graduate still living at home in the Bronx.

Believe it or don't, I read all the email that comes this way. A veritable cascade of fan letters, hate mail, and spam grace these inboxes every day.

Today, I have reached a milestone. I received my first form letter! As one shouldn't encourage the sender to follow up, I will post a reply here instead:

I am currently undertaking a research project for **** examining how news stories spread across the Internet, and specifically the potential that blogs have to turn the media industry on its head by establishing a direct channel between reader and source.

So far, so 1998. Though no explicit references to Lexis-Nexis. Pray continue.

During my own primary research I have come across numerous references to your blog. Would you be willing to provide insight into your experiences of how information spreads through blog communities?

I quite like the personal touch of 'your blog.' I would be delighted to share my wisdom and expertise with the masses, having been a long-standing member of the blog community since all of late last year.

I'm interested in the following areas:

1. How do you typically source material/stories for your blog?

Channelling extrasensory transmissions from the bioforms on Venus. Have you read my site at all before this?

2. Have you any examples of a story that you have broken on your blog, being second sourced up other blogs or the mainstream media?

That I am a whore. See several broadsheet papers circa last fortnight.

3. Do you believe people use or will in the future use blogs as a news source over the traditional medium of newspapers, tv and radio? And have you any evidence to support this?

Yes. And I believe people in the future will also be navigating the troposphere in antigravity Bacofoil suits and take our nutrition in capsule form. You have my word.

4. What are your views of the commercial sector adopting blogs to communication with customers, and other target audiences?

Ripping plan! All unwanted blogs should be adopted.

Any help with regards to any of the above or any other opinions you have would be greatly appreciated, and of course I'll share the results of my work with you in due course.

Smashing. I look forward to the result.

Thank you in anticipation.

Smooches, darling. It was my pleasure. (Before I am lambasted for ridiculing an email in public - it appears to be from someone doing market research, not an academic.)

"So now they think Lisa Hilton is me," I said.

"Hmm," she said. "How do you feel about all this?"

Slightly relieved they haven't got the right person yet, to be honest. "It's rather funny. I wouldn't mind if Lisa Hilton volunteered to go around saying she's Belle." Way better looking than Sarah Champion. Leaps and bounds - and, it is worth saying, better looking than me. And Lisa has abs to die for. I could sit-up from now until the singularity and still not have rippling muscles down there. Flat, yes. But not a six pack. Not even a four-pack of dry cider. Wherefore all the masochistic gym punishment? I should turf this job out to stay in writing and eating biscuits.

People whom I wouldn't throw out of bed for pretending to be me:

Karolina Kurkova,
Karolina Kluft,
Theoretically, anyone named Karolina.
Anna Kournikova,
Anna Nicole Smith,
Many, though not all, Annas.
Lisa Lopes,
Lisa Simpson,
The aforementioned Miss Hilton.
Liz Taylor,
Liz Hurley,
HM Liz II.

Please send a brief cover letter (one side of A4 only) describing why you should be me, plus contact details and referees, to the usual place.

The last fortnight, briefly:

Friend's birthday, saw the Boy, texts from him after (of which more some other time). Cleaned the kitchen. Don't know why; hardly use it lately.

Tube, train, car. Home, food, drink, more food, more drink. Train back to the Big Smoke, GP visit, haircut!, tube, train, off North again. Countryside, late mornings, pub lunches, old friends (as in, over 70). Geese. Bad telly, good telly, more food. Car, train, tube. Back to flat late last night. Everything in fridge mouldy. Good job I was loaded up with food on the way down, then. Must book a waxing.

Apologies for lack of updates. There's been not much going on, see.

A was idly surfing the web while I hunted for any scrap of cake in the house. None was forthcoming, so I made a deal with the devil and concocted a cup of chocolate consisting of the heat-whitened end of a Flake, most of a waxen bar of choc from an Army rat pack, and instant coffee. It swirled, oily and evil, in a white mug. "When and where were you born?" A asked.

"Why?"

"Natal chart." Online astrology is one of the sure signs of imminent societal collapse. Told him anyway. "Oh, dear. Oh, oh dear."

"What's that?" I sipped the greasy drink. Foul, yes, but not unsatisfying. Must find a better method of dealing with hormonal cycles though - for it is spring, when a young woman's fancy turns to bikinis.

"Mars is in Cancer." (Or whatever on earth he said. I'm not au fait with this particular brand of superstition.)

"Which means what exactly?"

"You're emotionally manipulative."

"Alert the press. I wonder who didn't already know that."

(I'm off home for a bit, not that it should affect the service you experience here, but rather that potential Belle-stalkers may update their maps.)