Was it a dream, a lie?

Today seems to have passed in something of a blur. I got back to Highgate incredibly late last night, and was up relatively early, so I’m a bit woozy.

I went first thing to meet a potential tenor for our choir at Goldsmith’s University. He was a very interesting chap, and had a great voice – soulful with more than a whiff of jazz - but I’m not sure he’s right for the choir. He’s definitely a potential soloist for something in the future, but his sight-singing was very slow and the jazz intonation made me wonder if he’d be able to sing with the precision and vocal dexterity that this choir needs. It was horrible having to email him to say “not yet”, but I genuinely meant "not yet" and think that he’s got a big future ahead of him if he keeps to a consistent path.

I came back via central London, where I had my hair macheted from my head by a lovely girl from Australia who didn't know how to stop talking. I then worked in a cafe near Old Compton Street until about 4pm, when I met Louise, who's the editor of most of my films. She's a lovely lass, but one of those people I always feel the need to wind up. In the past I’ve told her all sorts of bullshit about the projects we're working on. She hasn't yet cottoned on to the curious fact that I can't tell a lie more than twice. If I'm talking and you think I'm spinning a yarn, all you have to do is ask if I'm lying. If I AM lying I'll lie again - but then always cave in if asked a third time. I feel too much guilt otherwise! When I'm working with Louise, my favourite game is to see what I can get her to believe. When we start looking through the rushes, I'll often make up a little story about the person being filmed. “That little girl is actually a 15-year old boy” (she believed that one.) “Just after we’d done that take, the old guy with the white fluffy hair walked too close to a naked flame, and his hair went up in smoke.” (She believed that one as well.) Editing with her is so much fun. She even allows me to put a made-up name in every single one of the credits. Metro: The Musical apparently had a performer called Alice Tyrd. Priceless!

We met Nathan and ate in a cafe called Diana’s round the back of Covent Garden. It used to be a favoured eating hole with West End turns, but it’s got a bit pricey, and the staff are weird. I asked for a full vegetarian breakfast, and was horrified at how little I was given; just a few fried mushrooms, some baked beans, a tomato and a piece of toast. I had food envy all meal, and kept pinching Nathan’s chips.

I came back home and have been working, really, ever since.

Monday October 7^th, 1661, and Pepys was once again in a pickle about his uncle’s will. There was all sorts of business involving Huntingdon-based courts, and various letters, but frankly I don’t think anyone reading this blog would be remotely interested in the details. He went to visit his doctor, but found him ill in bed. That must be like finding your hairdresser sporting a rubbish barnet! Doctors aren't meant to get ill - and if they do, they're meant to be able to cure themselves!

I leave you with a response to yesterday's blog from my friend Ellie; "further to your blog... There was the case of the drummer who got so depressed he threw himself behind a train!"

Any more drumming jokes are very welcome... And viola jokes whilst you're at it! You can't beat a good viola joke!