If you'd seen Steve Norris in the street 30 years ago, badly dressed and overweight, you wouldn't have given him a second glance

Finally get my much-delayed lunch with the Labour Party general secretary Margaret McDonagh. This is my one chance to make my pitch about what a wonderful candidate I'd make for mayor, so I'm a bit nervous as I turn up at the Tate Gallery restaurant just down the road from Millbank Tower. Unfortunately, God is obviously voting for Jeffrey Archer. Just as I slip into my most charming mode, the fire alarm goes and we're all thrown out on the street, so we just have to settle for a sandwich back at her office under the watchful gaze of the entire party machine.

We are having problems with noisy neighbours again. Having just got rid of the nurses from hell next door, a group of jolly Antipodeans have moved in over the road. They announced their presence by waking us up early on Sunday morning as they spewed out into the street, whooping and screaming, running up and down the road doing "V" signs, swinging round the lampposts and kicking cars. It's quite charming to watch them celebrate a successful mating ritual, but their neighbours who have young children haven't been able to sleep two weeks running, so I decide to write a newspaper column denouncing them, although my staff worry that this makes me sound like Victor Meldrew.

Staff rebellion crushed.

It's Wednesday of the TUC and the press have discovered that Betty John, an old socialist friend, has died and left me her house, so I am pursued by journalists all the way to Brighton. Journalists rapidly lose interest when they discover it's in South Wales, not Notting Hill. I do my speech on globalisation at the GMB fringe meeting to an audience including virtually every national newspaper. My speech is obviously a great success as none of them reports it.

Back to London in time for the London Labour Party's 100th anniversary dinner at Stratford Town Hall, Keir Hardie's old constituency. Glenda, Trevor and I all join in the community singing. Glenda does a particularly moving "I'm Henry the Eighth I Am". Frank Dobson is main speaker with a passionate defence of Labour's traditional values and interestingly makes no reference to next year's mayoral contest. Perhaps he's trying to tell us something.

There is a rush for my new "Ken for Mayor" badges, word clearly having got around that these have become the hottest property in London after I attended the premier of Ravenous and the director, Antonia Bird, immediately put one on, along with the film's star, Robert Carlyle. This is undoubtedly the most entertaining film about cannibalism I have yet seen, although half the audience covered their eyes for half of it. Damon Albarn co-wrote the music and, as he pinned on a badge, it suddenly occurs that I should nobble him to compose a piece for the inauguration of London's mayor next year if I win.

After two days doing interviews about noisy neighbours, it's a relief to get down to Spectrum Radio (London's multicultural channel) to be interviewed about the mayor. This is the programme where Jeffrey Archer got into hot water with his remarks about "overweight" and poorly dressed black Londoners, so when I am asked for a final message for Londoners I can't resist saying: "This is a great city where anything is possible. Thirty years ago if you'd seen Steve Norris in the street, badly dressed and overweight, you wouldn't have given him a second glance. Now here he is, a sleek panther of a man, running for mayor."

Finally I see the full details of Jeffrey Archer's poll commissioned from MORI. It shows that if I am the Labour candidate our vote goes up 12 percentage points. Why couldn't I have been sent this before I took Margaret McDonagh out to lunch?

Just managed to squeeze in a swim and film before I go off to open Chingford and Wood Green's new party headquarters. A lovely evening, which reminds me of everything that is decent about the Labour Party, is capped by their presentation of a two-foot-long, very realistic model snail. This is so lifelike that, when I get home, I put it in the garden. Hopefully, it will ward off noisy neighbours.

The Sunday People reveals that a secret Tory poll shows me beating Archer and Norris. Unfortunately, it also shows that I would win as an independent, so the first half of the interview is wasted as I explain once again that I am seeking the Labour nomination and am not leaving the Labour Party.

Tuesday, and I rush off to a photo-shoot for Vogue magazine, for their special millennium issue. They tell a hilarious tale of how they phoned the Labour Party and asked them to let me know about the shoot, only to be told that there were many much more fashionable Labour MPs they could photograph rather than me.

Vogue were not persuaded and my very own spin-doctor insisted I go, as this would help reverse the Victor Meldrew image. Mind you, he gets pretty worried when I return and point out that the shoot included several very attractive models and Lord Snowden.

Ken Livingstone is the former Mayor of London.