Hello all from the rapidly cooling eastern metropolis. Today we went book hunting, and it was great fun! First, we went to a massive shopping centre in Buda. We went with the aim of trying out the Libri there. They were quite nice to us, which is unusual for Libri (think 'Boarders' but with shop assistants whom in training were told “be really bloody grumpy -it's the best way sell more books!”) Then we went all over town using those modern fancy trams, the ones that make you feel you're in some sort of cyber-punk paradise.

My favorite bookshop is “the writers bookshop” or “Irók Boltja” It's just about the most 'class A' drug of the bookshop world. Laced with High ceilings which are, of course, packed with bookshelves . Ladders run around them on metallic rails and wheels. I almost died.

But that wouldn't be my first near-death experience these past few days, oh no, I've also made a cake. I got the recipe off the Internet, and as normal we couldn't be arsed to either A. use the correct measurements or B. get the correct ingredients. Thus, we made it up as we went along: Yum Yum

It's quite shocking how two of the same bookshop (again: Libri) in the same mall can go from a house of smiles and kindness to bleeding walls of death. But it did. A nice helpful man who looked like Dr Frasier Crane in bookshop 'A' charmed and danced money out of Peter's credit card. We were then beaten to a bloody mess in bookshop 'B' Then spat on. It was horrible. Grumpy bastard just said “no, we have no books here” So, in Pythonesque nod, we shot him.

Anyway, after the book hunt I ended up with a backpack full to the brim with texts of all shapes and sizes. I can't understand them; this gives them an odd feeling – it's like they've got hidden knowledge locked away. And Peter is the rusty key who only sort of understands the titles. These piles of books add an academic flavour to the digs - but they're off to blighty after we've hunted down the last 9.

On the metro today the - probably sloshed- driver tried to pull away from the station without having first pumped the breaks. We think that's the reason I was almost flung into the Everest sized belly of a Hungarian gentleman. The train shunted to a stop in the middle of a tunnel and then an odd noise started to seep into the carriage. It was ok though, we wobbled our way to the next stop. It wasn't as scary as the time the GNER train from newcastle me and Peter once used, which as well as selling drainwater coffee also deiceded to set itself on fire.

Flea markets are excellent here, even in the bastarding rain. They're packed full of top hats, Soviet passports, Nazi memorabilia and scary sounding porn. On Sunday we went to a rather nice market in the centre of the city park – We bought incense for the flat to give it a funky Hippy vibe, Peter got chocolate and a pen made from a disused bullet. We've also added a book to the GULAG of “new age shit”. The book has the same name.

I've burnt my finger. From this blog onwards I'm never burning any of my limbs again. It really bloody hurts.

Ok, so I also keep leaving the hob on when I make coffee. I can't help it, it's really hard to remember! So Betsy has made a sign for me to stop me burning down the flat.

Yes, we decided Betsy shares the same persona as that of Patsy from Ab Fab.

I saw a rather cool shop sign one night in down-town pest. Here it is:

And, one last thing, Peter wants me to report that he tried (and failed) to scare me using the demon-curtain thing. I'm really quite worried by it. I think it is brought to life at night and dances around the flat in a bid to please its master: The Lord Woland.

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