Go East!

Whichever route you pick, the journey down to Lewes is a horrible one, which is never less than three hours long, despite being less than 100 miles away from Highgate as the crow flies. You have three options. Either you go the most direct route, straight through the middle of central London where you risk getting caught in every traffic jam the world chooses to throw at you. Or you go West, past the infamous Hangar Lane gyratory and onto the hell of the M25 near Heathrow. Or you go East where you're likely to get stranded in the Blackwall tunnel approach. You’re basicially screwed whichever route you take, but my preferred option is always to go East. I don't really know why. Unbelievably, I was through the Blackwall Tunnel this morning like a dose of salts with a big smile plastered across my face... But then I hit the M25, where I ended up in stationary traffic for about half an hour. I took a fancy detour on a cross country route which snaked its way through Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells, but with every town and village I drove through, the traffic seemed to get worse. For the final 5-mile stretch, I got caught behind a learner driver who was terrified to go faster than 30 miles per hour...

Anyway, I was in Lewes for three rehearsals; two with our pianist, Rachel, and one with our soloist, Hilary. Rachel teaches in a college in Lewes, so we had to split the session in half to work around her lessons. We were at university together and I’d forgotten what an astonishing pianist she is. She was pretty much sight-reading, but has an extraordinary musicality.

Hilary, similarly, is an exquisite singer, and I urged her today not to allow motherhood to take her away from performing forever. It was wonderful to see her and her brilliantly chubby baby, Jago. I’ve missed her over the last couple of months, and it was fabulous to get the opportunity to catch up. We had lunch in a cafe, and then took a walk through the sometimes-misty, sometimes-sunny autumnal streets of Lewes.

Sometime in the middle of all of this, I caught up with Mez for a quick mineral water in a pub by the station. Mez brought her little puppy, Berry, who is terribly cute. He or she (I think it’s a she) looks like a tiny little black and white mop, and did nothing but lick my fingers, and sit in a little heap on Mez’ lap like a glorified merkin!

Sunday 10^th November, 1661, and Pepys heard Mr Mills preaching at St Olave’s Church before zipping down to the Wardrobe for lunch, where Lady Sandwich continued with her mission to get him to spend more money on his wife. Pepys was very troubled to discover that a fair number of people he associated with were dropping dead of dropsy, an old school name for excess amounts of water, usually in the legs.

Pepys went to the pub in the evening and ordered a couple of bottles of strong wine from the Canary Islands, which made him feel extremely ill (possibly read drunk), so much that evenings prayers in front of all his household staff, was a fairly excruciating experience!