Father in absentia

I was up at shite o’clock this morning, feeling like death, hauling my sorry 'flu-filled ass to Borough to visit a recording studio which we might use for the Requiem. I’m not sure it’s big enough for our string sessions. It was one of those rather intriguing spaces with curious guitars and weird 1960s organs lining the walls and pushed into every corner. Without the clutter, the space would probably be big enough. Even with the clutter we might be okay, but clutter makes noise. Snare drums rattle and guitar strings vibrate. It’s certainly a strong contender for our choir sessions, but I'd hate to get there with the strings and discover it's just quite big enough.

The weather was beautiful this morning. I walked along a rancid dual carriageway on my way back to the tube, but it didn’t matter because the blossom trees lining the route had all burst into bloom, and the sun was shining. We’re told on the news that the sun has been shining rather too much of late, and that emergency measures are now in place to reverse the drought we’ve apparently had this winter. Drought? We live on an island. Surely a potential lack of drinking water is a direct result of water mismanagement rather than freak weather conditions? You don’t get hosepipe bans in the deep south of America, do you? Or maybe you do. Fiona, do they have hosepipe bans in Texas? Still, I’m sure if the water companies spent some of the money they extort from us mending pipes, we might find we’re in a different position.

My dear friend Marinella has asked me to be her father in absentia at her wedding in May. I have never walked someone down an aisle before (or in this case through a lemon grove, or something) and am touched, thrilled, honoured and excited to be asked. It’s on the afternoon of Eurovision, so once she’s married, we have to jump in the car and whip back to Highgate to host our annual party. I’ve been really worried about the clash, because it only occurred to me yesterday that the two events were due to happen on the same day... Over the last few weeks I’ve been blithely inviting people to Eurovision – so many now that I couldn’t possibly cancel the party, so I’ll just have to make sure all the food is cooked the night before, and all the score cards are printed out and ready for when people arrive. Oh, the tragic traumas of a homosexual cliche!

I went from Bermondsey to Central London, and pottered around Soho, before finding a cafe to work in. They were filming something in the dodgy alleyway next to the Raymond Review bar, and the whole place had been converted into sex shop seedy soho from the sixties. I stood and stared at the various distressed signs and posters that were being plastered over the newer neon signs and thought what an amazing and exciting district it must have been in those days.

350 years ago, and Pepys spent a rather dull day almost exclusively in his office, faffing around with bits of paper. The circular nature of his opening statement pretty much says it all.

At the office from morning till night putting of papers in order, that so I may have my office in an orderly condition. I took much pains in sorting and folding of papers.

As I write, Nathan is tidying the kitchen. I must help him.