Still agent-less

Last night, just before bed, I emailed the agent I’d been to see that morning, to say that I didn't think it was going to work out with them. It felt very strange to be turning down a top agent, but I know it was for the best. I got a phone call from them earlier today to say they fully understood why I'd made the decision, and that they still thought I was a top-notch composer. So we’re all still friends and no noses have been put out of joint. I now have the time to sit down and think about whether an agent is genuinely the right thing for me to have at this stage of my career.


But for a brief sojourn to the gym immediately after lunch, I’ve had a pretty sedentary day, much of which has been spent on the sofa. I've been approached by an amateur group who want to perform my adaptation of Alice Through the Looking-Glass, yet the script and score are in such disarray that I feel ashamed to hand them over without a proper over-haul. So for the last few days, that's what I've spent much of my time doing.

My voice still feels a bit silky and weird, and I’m not sure these proton pump inhibitors are doing much good. Nathan thinks I also need to seriously change my diet. He probably has a point. I was forced to eat my evening meal at the theatre last night and, in the absence of any real food, ended up with two packets of Monster Munch and a bowl of nuts. That certainly wasn’t going to do my stomach a great deal of good!

I received an email from Nathan’s mother today, who has transferred money into Nathan’s account for us to buy a brand new tumble drier, which is such exciting news, and so unbelievably generous of her. Nathan has said we’re going to go shopping for one tomorrow, and I cannot wait. Having a tumble drier for the first time in 6 months will make our lives so much more enjoyable – and I won’t smell like a dirty mop whenever it rains!

Sunday 20th January, 1660, and Pepys, unsurprisingly, went to church... twice. There was a brief visit to his aunt and uncle and a trip to see Sir William Penn, who was still ill, but other than this, it was a day of quiet contemplation and journal writing.