Amalfi

I went to bed at about 1am last night and couldn't sleep for love nor money. My head was processing information like some sort of ludicrous ticker tape machine and then whole symphonies started floating through my brain; a true indication that it's time to acknowledge sleep simply isn't meant to be.

I got up and started writing music for Brass, and by the time my eyes had started feeling heavy, it was almost 5am and I had to be up at 8. I feel like I've been repeatedly punched in the face all day today as a result.

I had a meeting with Alistair from the Kaleidoscope Trust at the British Film Institute on the Southbank. We were discussing our Invisible Voices project, which will occupy my time from April to July this year. It seems such a long way off, but at the same time, just around the corner. We also talked about what's going on around the world in terms of equality. Alistair has been kept on his toes for the last month, what with the awful things happening in India, the Cameroon, Uganda and Nigeria. He described it as one of the most depressing periods of his life. People are dying, being whipped, being hanged. And yet, in 3 months time, British gay people will start to get married.

We spent the day with Archie and delivered our pitch at the close of business. Who knows what will happen with it. The self-preservationist in me will spend from now until we have a response trying to think of a million reasons why I don't want the project to happen, so I'm not too disappointed when it doesn't.

We had a lovely evening tonight. Little Michelle's father, Michael, took Nathan, his fabulous partner, Sheila, Michelle, her mate Craig and me out for dinner at Amalfi on Old Compton Street. The food was delicious and we basically laughed all night. Nathan stole the show on the humour stakes by suggesting that Jermaine Jackson's brothers were called Jerstarter and Jerpudding, which made us cackle like witches. That's a joke which wouldn't work in the States! I might try it on my mate Cindy just to watch her laughing politely but squirming inside.

It was midnight before any of us had blinked. Definitely the sign of a great evening.