Waking along Parkland Walk with a clear head this morning gave me a chance to ruminate on life and the general events of the last few days. I'm reminded of little moments. The way my Mum's silk top billowed on the washing line as she sang the last line of her song, how watery and blue her eyes looked in direct sunlight, the way the morning light lit up the daffodils in the window of my parents' sitting room, laughter as Celia's Ron took delivery of a second broken toilet seat whilst his wife sang in the kitchen. The most priceless memory of all was at the end of the day, just as Celia had finished singing her last line, Nathan's sister asked, "do you feel like a film star, Mummy?" To which she responded, quick as a flash; "No I feel like a gin and tonic!" Ah, the joys of filming...
It's crash diet for me and fitness regime over the next two weeks. I think I've left it a little too late to achieve an entirely new silhouette, but I'm determined to walk down the aisle not looking bloated and weird. I ran this evening all the way to Finchley and back, but I must have been going awfully slowly, because a girl overtook me, flapping her arms about like some sort of spazzy windmill. I felt very ashamed to be out run by something that ineffectual. Her curious running reminded me of one of the comments I read on the choreography portion of one of the NYMT audition forms. The comment simply said. "Dance. 0/10. I'm surprised she can even walk." Ouch.
Today's been a hugely frustrating day. There were all sorts of misunderstandings floating around the office, which seemed to land on my lap at about lunchtime. Nathan's been in Central London all day, so I've very much been dealing with things on my own.
We did at least finish the music mixing, but the process of trying to write music for the vows is providing me with headache upon headache. Setting legalese to music is not a great deal of fun, however important to your future that legalese is. The whole thing has left me with a cracking writers' block. I know this because, at about ten o'clock I went into the loft to see if I could write another song for Brass, and everything which came out seemed hackneyed and un-refreshing. I hope this doesn't last, but with the stress I'm feeling right now, and the pressure I'm under to write music for our registrar in time for her to learn it, I suspect I may be on for a turbulent few days.