Sleep tight, the milkman's on his way

I'm still getting over the shock of Nathan being here in New York. I can genuinely say that I had no idea something like this was being planned. It was such a magical moment. So many bizarre thoughts went through my head as I looked up and saw him standing there. On one level it seemed to make perfect sense; “Oh look, it’s Nathan” I thought... but then I started panicking; “oh my God, it’s Nathan. What's he doing here?  What's he come to tell me. Something must be wrong!” Then of course I decided it wasn’t Nathan after all! And it was only then that I was thrilled. I think the You Tube video shows all these emotions fairly clearly.


Matt has put us up in THE most astonishing room at Soho House. It’s enormous. You could sleep a family of matchstick makers on the bed alone, and there’s an enormous bath standing freely in the middle of the room, which you could swim in.

Last night we had our tea in a diner on 42nd street and then watched Dame Edna Everage doing a show on Broadway. She was performing with an over-sincere crooner called Michael Feinstein, who was apparently famous, but had never entered my radar. His speciality is the Great American Songbook, that slightly nebulous genre of easy listening songs which seem to include anything written in America from 1920 to about 1970. He was caked in orange make-up and his hair (and shirt collar) was raven black. Before each song he’d say things like; “music touches my life and makes my heart leap” and then there’d be the pre-requisite references to Liza, Frank, Ella and all the other performers who only need a Christian name by means of introduction... sadly Michael hasn’t quite made it onto this list, although I’m sure he’d like to think he has. Edna, however, very much has. And she was hysterical. Laugh-out-loud funny.

We went down to see him (Barry Humphries) afterwards and he was incredibly charming. He remembered meeting Nathan before and described Matt as the greatest comic in the English speaking world.

Half an hour later were were in the West village at the Monster Bar, where we propped up the piano and
sang show tunes. Nathan did Anthem from Chess, Matt sang The Man From La Mancha, and I spluttered my way through Gethsemene. The highlight was definitely the moment when the whole bar – and I mean about 40 people – erupted into a rousing rendition of One Day More from Les Miserables; all the harmonies, all the different parts. Definitely one of the moments in my life that I thanked God for making me gay!

It turned slightly sour, however. Whilst we were making our way through Little Shop of Horrors there was a bang, a smash of glass and a shout from the other side of the bar. We looked up to see two men fighting. Proper fighting, not bitch slapping. A few guys waded in to split them up and it became clear that one of them had glassed the other with a bottle. His face was covered in blood, almost like something from a film, literally just pouring off him and gushing onto the floor. Very distressing, although we were told later that he was okay. It’s astonishing what people will do to avoid hearing show tunes!

350 years ago, Pepys started his day at his viol, playing and singing Orpheus’ Hymn. I reckon Skid Row might have proved to be more catchy. He then went to church where Mr Gunning, the minister, preached about charity. After church he ate at his mother’s house with his wife and maid and there was much high talk about religion; Anglicanism versus Puritanism. Surely not as interesting as Stephen Schwarz versus Stephen Sondheim, but Pepys hadn't just seen someone being glassed!