Shaky

I am exhausted. I’ve been working all day; sitting at the same computer, on a variety of chairs in my flat. I feel shaky and weird.

I’ve spent the day reapplying to the Arts Council, based on a frighteningly detailed set of notes that someone from within the organisation very kindly sent to me. There is so much to do and at the back of my mind I’m wondering a) how I can be expected to think like a businessman and b) if I’ll end up back in the same place after jumping through a million new hoops. I have to confess, when faced with the idea of creating a “project delivery plan” and a detailed document outlining how I’m going to evaluate the success of my project, I just wanted to burst into tears. I have so many other things to think about, specifically, the hugely complicated jigsaw which I’m facing just to make sure that players and singers turn up on days when they’re free in venues which are suitable and affordable. On top of this, I have to do a major re-write of the music...

I’ve only eaten a bowl of soup all day. I’m hungry, and I’m worried about Nathan who had to go to A and E today with a sore ear generated by the syringing he had done on Sunday. It’s 11pm. I shouldn’t only now be stopping work. I want to do what normal people do, and have time to go to the gym, and tidy the house, and cook lovely meals, and watch The Voice on iplayer.

Thursday 24^th April, 1662, and Pepys spent the day milling around Portsmouth, waiting for news of the Queen’s arrival. He was surrounded by “much London company” although not as many society figures as he’d expected.