Eurovision What Contest?

I’m feeling slightly better today; but only just. I tried to clean the bath earlier and ended up so knackered that I had to sit down for ten minutes. I've slept 17 out of the past 24 hours. I’m sure this has as much to do with the illness as it has with the fact that I haven’t eaten for 2 days. On the bright side, my trousers feel considerably looser than they did when I got back from the States. Who was it that said; “I’m just one bacterial stomach infection away from my ideal weight”?


I hope I perk up considerably by tonight. My brother, Sascha, Alex and Wiesek are coming over to watch the programme where they select the British entry for the Eurovision Song Contest. I'm an enormous Eurovision fan; it’s something that unites me with both of my brothers. It’s one of those occasions, like Christmas, where we’re either together, or on the phone to each other, moaning about eastern-bloc voting mafias or the quality of the British entry. It was always my dream to have a song selected for the competition, and one year I shall. It’ll need to be third time lucky, however, because I’ve entered songs on two occasions in the past; one of which was a co-write with playwright Sir Arnold Wesker. Now there’s a fact*. Sadly, both crashed and burned, or disappeared without trace. I’m not sure they were heard by anything resembling judges as the more I learn about the selection process the more I understand it’s about who you know and not what you write. On that note, I’m hugely perturbed by the fact that we’re selecting the artist this year and not the song. This is a song competition and I’m not sure I want to be represented in Europe by a pre-selected song. It’s a bit like being asked to vote for a dictator.

I’m on a tube, sweating and panting en route to the hell of Notting Hill, where I have another meeting about the US Route 50 musical film. This project certainly feels like it would be the big one if only we could get it off the ground. I certainly think if anyone’s going to make it happen it will be Glyn and Tomboy Films. I find her utterly inspiring and love the way she runs her company. It feels like a proper family, even down to the dog which wonders around the office.

350 years ago, Pepys noted that his servant, Jane woke up at 2am to start the monthly wash. She must have woken him up for he writes that he sat with his wife in the early hours talking and not being able to get back to sleep because of his bad cold. When the morning finally arrived, they went shopping to the New Exchange, a sort of 17th Century shopping mall on the south side of the Strand, and bought a great deal of stuff (unspecified), one assumes to keep Elizabeth occupied and content during his trip away.

After lunch he borrowed a horse and rode to Mr Bowyer’s house in Huntsmore, a small hamlet to the west of London in Buckinghamshire. It was here that Elizabeth would board whilst Pepys was at sea. From Pepys’ perspective, it made far more sense to find his wife lodgings outside of London. The political situation in the capital was still uncertain and perhaps more importantly, there would be far less temptation for her in a tiny village. After discussing business, Mr Bowyer fixed Pepys up with a remedy for his cold; a spoonful of honey with nutmeg scraped into it. One wonders if the nutmeg was offered in enough of a quantity to produce something of a natural high as Pepys seemed very pleased with the results!

*If you want to hear my Eurovision Song Contest entry played on Arnold Wesker's Desert Island Discs, go here and click on Shone With The Sun (bottom row, box just to the right of the middle)