Some kind of child molestor

Hideously, it feels like I have another cold coming on. My face feels flushed and it hurts when I swallow. I'm stressed. I must be. My stomach is in knots. Perhaps I’m dying. We’re all dying... Get over it!


I got up early today to start the week as I mean to go on. I went for a run, all the way to Finsbury Park, and back via Holloway to the job centre in Archway. It may be a complete shit hole in there, but remind me not to sign on again whilst dripping with sweat. It’s a mortifying experience. No one assumes you've been running because everyone in there is in some form of sports gear. Everyone stares at you, like you’re some kind of rancid child molestor who naturally sweats that profusely. I couldn't understand a word the bloke who signed me on was saying. In the end I just nodded like an imbecile. I knew he was asking me questions, but there's a limit to how many times you can ask a man to repeat himself. In the end I fathomed that he was asking me what sort of work I was looking for. I told him I was a composer, and he immediately shut down his screen and told me they wouldn't have any work in that field. Honest, I thought, and at least he didn't ask me to widen my search. Still, I am hoping very soon to be able to sign off for a period to make the film for BBC London.

I've spent the day doing research in the hope that I’ll gather enough of a story to be commissioned to do it properly. I’ve written to countless gay and transgender groups, and am going to a major event tomorrow night to meet lots of trans-folk. I always get excited about meeting trans-people. I genuinely think they’re the bravest and most extraordinary people in the world.

Every time I turned the television on today, that rather strange little chap called Dominic was on. He does consumer shows, and speaks in a big gruff voice for such a tiny person. He talks in cliched soundbites, and says things like; "don't get done, get Dom." He was on twice this morning, and once this evening. Surely there are other presenters out there? Perhaps he’s just cheap. Anyway, he annoys me, because his head seems too big for his body. I’m not normally that quick to judge...

It’s been fairly overcast today, but as the sun set, it went below the cloud. The trees opposite were glowing a sort of magical lime green colour, so much that I managed to convince myself they were covered in tiny yellow flowers. For ten minutes the leaves shone like delicate emeralds in the sun light. What a marvellous thing nature is.

Glowing like precious stones: How many Londoners are lucky enough to have a view like this out of their sitting room window?

As so often happens, I’ve been a day out with Pepys for the last couple of entries. I missed out May 14th, 1661, which was a day of bitching and eating bacon. Pepys spent the evening drinking and ended the entry; “Finding my head grow weak now-a-days if I come to drink wine, and therefore hope that I shall leave it off of myself, which I pray God I could do...” One of the earliest examples of Pepys promising to give something up in the eyes of the Lord... Women, wine, theatre, meat... he was always abstaining from something that he considered to be bad for him...