I’ve spent the day in meetings, the first of which was at the Musician Union’s head quarters in Oval. We had a good chat about the nasty court case which is fast approaching, but within two weeks the whole sorry business will have been sorted once and for all – and I can’t wait. Throughout this entire process the MU has been absolutely brilliant. I have been supported and guided through every stage of the journey. Thank God for unions, I say. Everyone should be a member of a union.
The afternoon was spent in meetings at Marylebone Police Station talking about Philip’s attack. The police have been taking us incredibly seriously since we took to the streets, and this is the second time that they’ve called me in to talk me through their investigation. I’m now satisfied that they’re working as hard as they can, although it’s like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. They showed me some of the CCTV footage that they’ve been trawling through. It’s very grainy, and irritatingly, on almost every occasion, the attack either happens when the camera is looking in another direction – or in the case of the fixed cameras – just out of shot. It was horribly eerie to see the ambulance pulling up on Coventry Street and watching the smudgy image of Philip in a stretcher being loaded into the back.
Unfortunately, as I reached the police station, I found the Inspector standing on the steps waiting to greet me. I climbed the steps, immediately tripped and landed at his feet in a sort of ungainly face-plant. In an instant, the image I’d been working on as a sort of fearless freedom fighter had been destroyed forever.
Tonight is the night that the Eurovision wagon rolls into Dusseldorf, and I’m heading to my brother’s to watch the first semi-final. He’s going to be in Germany for the second semi and the actual final and I am more than a little envious. Still, with any luck we should have ten or so people at our house on Saturday to watch it on the telly. Jim is already preparing a giant scoreboard...
Friday 10th May 1661, was a pretty ordinary day for Pepys; it involved drinking, schmoozing, scheming and money-making, but nothing that stands out as being particularly interesting or out of the ordinary.