A little piece of rope won't hold it together

We're at Daryl and Philip's house in Kensington listening to show tunes whilst talking about the sorrowful state of musical theatre in this country. Well, that's what I'm talking about. I seem to be standing on a soap box, spitting vitriol. I didn't know I felt so passionately about the subject! There is no investment in young writing talent over here. None whatsoever. In the States, every university has a programme for musical theatre composers, and every major city has a bursary which helps people who want to write musicals. Over here there's nothing. I spent ten years failing rather spectacularly to get my head above the parapet as a composer of musical theatre, yet in half that time, have made leaps and bounds in the medium of television. It's very wrong! Musical theatre is falling apart...

Otherwise, it's been a very relaxing day, so much that there's very little to report. I slept in late, very late, and then we sort of pottered about, watching telly and eating pasta. I'd love to say I'm more interesting than that, but I'm not. 

350 years ago, Pepys went with the two Sir Williams to see the Duke of York. They wanted to whinge about the state of the navy and the lack of funding which was creating disillusionment within the rank and file. This argument would continue for years to come, and reach crisis point in 1667 when the Dutch invaded the country. 

In the afternoon, Pepys went to see The Alchemist at the theatre with Captain Ferrers. The evening was spent in the company of Sir William Penn (father of the father of Pennsylvania) and a bottle of wine. Lovely.