We’re on the M6, heading to Manchester, or Macclesfield, or somewhere up north beginning with M. We’re travelling to Hilary and Rupert’s wedding, which is happening in a Catholic Church so no doubt will go on forever!
We’re sailing through Birmingham at the moment. Such a horrific looking place. You’d think as a proud Midlander I’d feel a kind of affinity with this place, but as far as I can tell, aside from a fairly charming city centre, it’s all cemeteries, concrete overpasses and electricity sub stations. We never came here as kids. We never got beyond Coventry. Perhaps I should do a musical project here. That might give me a sense of why 1 million people have chosen this barren land as their home.
I’m being a stroppy git because I’ve not eaten anything today. I’m very similar to Pepys in that respect and wish I could find some kind of solution to the problem other than by gorging myself on the first thing that comes to hand when the cranky behaviour starts to effect others.
Nathan and I are singing in an 8-part choir in the service so we’ve been going through the music. One of the pieces is by Walton and the bass part is dead tricky. Half the time it feels like I’m singing in a completely different key to everyone else. This is somewhat exacerbating my shirtiness as every time I sing it through I seem to be ending in the wrong key. I'm now gorging on Opal Fruits and suddenly I feel at peace with the world.
Sam continues to knit his socks in the back seat of the car; sagely commenting on the flickering world outside...
350 years ago, the wind direction changed and the fleet was finally able to set sail, drifting slowly up the Thames Estuary. Pepys was plainly travelling in THE ship, for as she raised her anchor, the other ships it the fleet let off a multi-gun salute. Unfortunately this caused such major vibrations that all the windows smashed in Pepys’ cabin! Oops.