A friend calls me from Tyre where Palestinians are welcoming Shi'ite refugees into their homes.

One old Palestinian lady turned on her guest with memories of her own exile since 1948. "Better to die in your home than run away, " she shouts.

Too many journos are now wearing flak jackets and helmets, little spacemen who want to show they are 'in combat' on the television. I notice their drivers and interpreters are usually not given flak jackets. They are reserved for us, the Westerners, the Protected Ones, Those Who Must Live.

Monday 7 August: A pilotless drone buzzes over my home at 4am. To Mar Elias Palestinian refugee camp to talk to Suheil Natour, human rights man for the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine. In a book-crammed room that smells of paper and cups of tea . . . always a good sign . . . he goes through the options of the Israelis and Hezbollah.

Do the Israelis want to draw the Palestinians into their battle, to help destroy Hamas? "Do you realise that the largest community in Lebanon, the Shi'ites, are now spread as refugees in every other area of Lebanon for the first time ever?" he asks.

As I leave his office, I hear the drone again, surveying the camp. I do an interview with New Zealand television on the Beirut seafront and a group of young Shi'ite men and women stand behind the camera to listen. I talk about Lebanese history, the Ottoman empire, the disasters of the Shi'ites, the Israeli invasions/bombardments of 1978, 1982, 1993, 1996 and now. When I've finished, one of the young men translates for his family. He is from Qana, he says. They fled after last week's massacre of 28 civilians who were hiding from Israel's bombing in a basement.

Tuesday 8 August: Ed Cody and I race to the southern suburb of Shiyah where the Israelis have fired two missiles into an apartment block. Rubble, body parts, shrieking men and women, the death toll of 20 soon to rise to 63, all civilians. Some idiot competing for the Darwin Award had heard a drone over the street and opened fire on it and within minutes an Israeli plane had demolished the nearest building.

We drive across to Mount Lebanon Hospital to talk to the wounded. How different it all is from Europe or America where a journalist visiting a hospital is regarded as a vulture feasting on human misery. In Lebanon, we are welcome.

The papers carry an odious speech by US diplomat David Welch. He manages to express his love for a country his nation is helping Israel to destroy while avoiding any journalists' questions. Get this for a quote: "Much has happened (sic) in the past three weeks, but the commitment of the United States to Lebanon remains firm; it remains enduring and it is not negotiable. The relationship of the US with Lebanon is based on mutual respect." At no point does he mention the word 'Israel'.

Wednesday 9 August: Oil from the burning fuel depot at Jiyeh is washing up on the shore opposite my home . . . dead birds, black fish and the smell of a refinery. It's broken up into thick black balls that lie on the rocks and sand when the modest Mediterranean tide goes out.

In the Chouf, the Druze are caring for 100,000 Shi'ite refugees. "There is not a single man between 25 and 40 among them, " the wife of a Druze official remarks.

The BBC is its old craven self, referring to the tiny sliver of Lebanese territory taken at great cost by Israeli troops as Israel's "security zone" . . . Israel's own preposterous title for what must be the most insecure piece of land on earth. It is of course an "occupation zone" but not, it seems, if it's occupied by the Israelis.

Thursday 10 August: To the City Cafe to meet Leena Saidi, formerly one of Lebanese TV's top newsreaders. City Cafe is upmarket, filled with boring old men smoking cigars and elegant ladies in silk skirts. We order green tea and then there's the roar of an explosion and an Israeli missile screeches past us into the old French Mandate lighthouse. Never have I seen the Great and the Good of Beirut hurl themselves from their seats at such speed, overturning tables, racing for their chauffeur-driven cars . . . and failing to pay their bills. A second missile streaks into the tower. "Fisk!" Leena roars.

"Why do you always bring trouble with you?"

Friday 11 August: I visit the barber. "Thanks to the God!" cries George. It is lunchtime and I am his first customer. Lebanese believe we journos know the future and we have to pretend we do so they will tell us what they know. Photographs on the Lebanese front pages show burning Israeli tanks near Khiam. Shortage of newsprint. One of my morning papers is now only four pages.

Saturday 12 August: Long radio interview with an Israeli professor who says "the number of people killed doesn't reflect morality". Well, it can't reflect morality, can it, because that would suggest Israel was committing war crimes. But Hezbollah will also have its day of reckoning. Who gave it the right to bring this cruelty upon the heads of Lebanese?

Cody has invented a great word: to 'flamboozle'. It's what politicians do to their people when they go to war. We may have a ceasefire this weekend, so the end of the flamboozling may be nigh.