Is 'Too hungry to write' an excuse for sitting here and not doing anything? I can't concentrate, maybe it's the long journey, maybe I don't want to start writing the bad stuff.

I was just greeted by V. when I went outside, he seemed pleased to see me, he had the street sweeper girl with him and she was friendly too. V. told me how he'd been helping with an accident nearby in which a six month old baby was killed. He is eternally cheerful, even when talking about things like that.