I had a fairly unpleasant start to my day. There'd been some tube problem at Kentish Town, and I stood on the platform at Highgate waiting for what seemed an age whilst people tutted and stormed about, shouting at station staff. I'm usually the one doing the shouting, so it was quite interesting to passively watch the process of someone blowing a gasket! I suspect it will make me less likely to blow one in the future!
My back was absolutely killing me. Since last Wednesday, I've been in rather constant pain, which hasn't done a great deal to alleviate my ever-growing stress levels.
To add considerable insult to injury, a young couple had decided to stand in the middle of the platform snogging. And I don't just mean snogging. We're talking tongues-down-throats-get-a-room-you-mucky-buggers snogging. I'd had the misfortune of following them down the escalators, and they spent the entire ride entwined most inappropriately. It was, however, their decision to continue their make-out in the middle of the platform, where people had to pass either side, which made me feel positively furious. It was desperately inappropriate.
With public displays like that, I often feel that passers-by should attempt to join in. If people insist on bringing their sexual activity into a public forum then they need to expect people to treat them as though they're fair game at an orgy!
I walked from Old Street to meet Philippa in a cafe in Shoreditch. Whilst in transit, I booked myself in for an emergency appointment with my osteopath. At one stage I passed a street cleaner pushing a large wheelie bin, which had been decorated with a collection of cuddly toys, no doubt things which he'd picked up and felt bad about throwing away. I like to think he was displaying them all in the hope that the children who'd dropped them would recognise them and take them back home.
The meeting with Philippa was about Brass. We're looking at the story arcs within the piece and trying to make sure the character of Alf, who's the work's protagonist, has a clear journey through the piece. The thought of writing another draft of the script fills me with horror, but it's a necessary evil.
On the way to Borough I was charmed by the woman sitting next to me on the tube. She was a delightfully glamorous Chinese lady, who was humming a song from Blood Brothers in a glorious soprano voice. I think she must have been off to an audition because she took a big file of music out of her bag and started flicking through it.
I had lunch in a cafe around the corner from the osteopath. It's one of those places which serves "mixed leaf" salads. I took a punt on one the last time I was there and was sorely disappointed. I hate faffy food. Lettuce is lettuce in my opinion; the blander the better. It's only going to end up tasting of dressing. This place offered up a series of inedible and jagged bits of green stuff, some of which were incredibly bitter, some of which looked suspiciously like coriander. Most horrific of all were the little leaves which looked like geranium plants. Not appropriate.
The osteopathy went well. My new osteopath collects shoes, so it's always interesting to see what he's decided to wear.
I feel a lot better this evening, and came home for a second session with Philippa on the script, this time on Skype. I think we're there now, and all remains is for me to slowly work my way through her thoughts.
I say all that remains.... There's a lot to get through. So many words, so many musical notes, so little time...