All I do is eat and sleep and sing

We're on the M6 somewhere near Knutsford. We've just stopped at one of those crazy 1960s service stations with the covered walkways over the motorway. I stood for a moment, watching the cars hurtling underneath me. They looked like fireworks. 

My lips feel very dry. We've done nothing but eat rubbish food all day.

It's been a long old day up in Glasgow, and driving through the Lake District in gale force winds and sheeting rain was not exactly a bundle of laughs.

We have, however, had a brilliant time. We were playing drums at a conference; a sort of team-building, post-lunch interlude aimed to keep the delegates focussed and entertained. We played for fifteen minutes, but spent 3 hours setting up percussion instruments; one on every chair for each of the 1400 people crammed into the auditorium.

Mark, who lead the session, was, as ever, superb. He's genuinely one of the most charismatic men I know. I very much hope the delegates enjoyed the show. As a non-drummer, I felt as though I was flying by the seat of my pants, but  everything seemed to go well. Perhaps I'll become a drummer... No wait, I'm a musician. Q. What do you call a bloke who hangs out with musicians? A. A drummer! Boom boom chink! Q. How do you know if a drummer's at your door? A. The knocking gets faster!

As we packed away the drums and shakers and sundry wooden ethnic-looking instruments, I sang an hour-long non-stop medley of music from the 1970s. It's important to keep the troops entertained. One of the ushers in the venue, stood and watched me with a great big, humourless, special-needs look plastered across her face. After a while she asked if I liked singing.  An oddly redundant question, I feel. 

Now, is it me, or are the Scots a tiny bit dour? I know it's a cliche and that most of them are not exactly fond of the English, but it would have been quicker to chisle a smile into some of the people I encountered in the city today. Maybe it was the relentless rain...

At breakfast this morning, I found myself surrounded by Russians, who, I'm afraid, also looked like they'd been sucking lemons. All the woman had bright red hair and entirely circular faces. They looked like suicidal pin cushions.

October 6th, 1661 was a Sunday, and Pepys went to church - twice. October marked the official start of the winter season, so many of the church's more wealthy parishioners had returned from country estate that they'd lived in over the summer. Pepys was in his element. There was a very pretty "black" woman - dark haired, rather than dark skinned, and a lady in a flowery satin suit, which he liked very much!