I’ve just returned from a particularly long walk with Fiona. We went up to Muswell Hill and then back to Highgate via Crouch End. Just as well we returned when we did, however, as I think I’m coming down with the Norovirus which is doing the rounds in London. My tummy feels strange to say the least. It's also started raining, which is wildly depressing. I woke up this morning and the sky was cornflower blue. I was keeping my fingers crossed that the morose weather we've had of late was on the turn.
It’s Twelfth Night tomorrow, which means we have to take down all our Christmas decorations. Nathan is putting all sorts of beautiful shiny things into terribly dull cardboard boxes. Another year done and dusted.
I spent the morning writing in Cafe Nero, but was forced away by the rancid cooking smells, which have now become quite an obsession. We had more mushrooms for lunch but Fiona ate soup because blue cheese makes her ill. In the afternoon, I managed to find a rather lovely womb-like corner in the cafe at Jackson’s Lane, and sat there writing very contentedly. I must find something other than tea to drink whilst I'm writing. I got the proper shakes today, which I'm assuming is to do with the caffeine rather than the norovirus.
The lyrics were sent out for approval today, so fingers crossed they’re loved – or at least endured - by all.
Saturday 5th January was a relatively quiet day for Pepys. He was visited at the Navy Office in the morning by a string of people who were looking to do business, which generally meant they wanted him to use his influence to do them favours. Pepys, however, lapped up every aspect of his new-found importance. He spent the afternoon with Lady Jemima, visiting St Paul’s churchyard on his way home to buy himself a copy of Ogilby’s Aesop’s Fables.