Overdressed

The sun shone all day for the first time in what seems an eternity. People were universally overdressed, sweating profusely into scarves and heavy winter coats on the tube this afternoon. They say it won't last, and I'm told there are already thunder storms rolling into Essex and heading our way.  Nathan and I have ended up going  to bed ridiculously late for the past three nights and getting up relatively early. The exhaustion is beginning to take its toll. I have a headache and a funny tummy. I made a start rewriting the requiem today. I'm plainly putting too much pressure on myself, but when you're writing for the Balanescu String Quartet, it's difficult not to feel a tad intimidated! My first album release has to be absolutely perfect, or at least as good as I can make it... Fiona finally handed back the keys for her London flat today and is officially no longer a Londoner, which feels more than a little strange. We toasted her departure with a cup of tea in the local greasy spoon and then waved her on her way to Brighton. This evening found me putting the Fleet Singers through their paces on the piece I've written for them. They seem to be responding well to the music and they're a terribly friendly bunch, which makes working with them a great treat.  350 years ago, Pepys relieved himself of his official Navy duties to woo and coo at his new lady friends. He took them to the mayor's office to show them the fine presents that were being assembled for the future Queen of England.  Pepys and the doctor took the women back to their lodgings where they played cards and drank until gone midnight. Pepys and the doctor shared a bed that night, gossiping about the women they'd been with, one of whom was "somewhat old and handsome, and painted and fine, and had a very handsome maid with her, which we take to be the marks of a bawd." How awful to be so ludicrously judged.