I spent the morning at Jackson's Lane Community Centre, shivering in their cafe and trying to write lyrics whilst watching actors filing past for auditions and children screaming their way in and out of a play in the main house. The parents of Highgate are a funny bunch. Two sat down next to me with a clutch of children all of whom were being fed apples and some kind of crazy dried white fruit which looked like maggots. What's wrong with Mars Bars and Coca-cola? Get them climbing the walls, I say! The conversation bewteen the adults, unsurprisingly, revolved around organic food and all of the children seemed to be called Tarquin. They were freakishly polite but annoyed me horribly.
I'm currently sitting in the Woodman pub, listening to live jazz with Fiona and Paul, who are back from Texas. The singer is not great, but I applaud anything that's live. The pub smells of poo today, which is unfortunate.
I heard yesterday that Philippa's dear Grandmother has sadly died. I think she could well have been the last Grannie within my friendship group, and by all accounts she was a remarkable woman who seemed to take almost everything in her stride. She will be sorely missed.
Friday December 21st 1660 and Elizabeth bought herself a lovely new muff, fnah fnah. Pepys had dinner with Lady Sandwich and learnt "how dangerously ill" the Princess Royal was. In fact, there were rumours that she was already dead.
At seven at night Pepys walked "through the dirt of Whitehall" to find Sandwich, who had recently returned from the family seat. As Pepys' distant cousin, he was able to bring news of various shared Huntingdonshire relatives. Pepys' Auntie Anne, for example, had voided a massive kidney stone and it was said she wouldn't live long. Poor Auntie Anne. P'Anne.