11.15 on a Sunday is not a hugely humane time to finish work for a day, particularly as, instead of sitting down to relax I'm now rushing about trying to make the house look a tiny bit presentable for Nathan who returns from Leicestershire for good tonight. I'm afraid I've allowed the place to become a proper tip over the last few weeks, and plainly this won't make him feel particularly welcome.
Alex and Moira appeared in the night last night after their final show at Jackson's Lane. They arrived at about 2.30am. Moira was brilliantly drunk and asked if there was any food in the house. Mortifyingly I couldn't find anything useful. Nevertheless, there was just about enough stuff to feed her some sandwiches and the remnants of a vegetable stew I'd had for lunch, and she ate the lot with great alacrity as an enormous rain storm battered against the windows.
Alex had to get up at some ungodly hour to take the set down in the theatre, but it was lovely to have Moira floating about the house this morning. In fact we went for brunch together at the greasy spoon, which was particularly pleasant as we opted to sit out on the street. This area is very much part of Moira's childhood. She lived in Muswell Hill and was schooled in Highgate, so the Archway Road was a part of town she saw every day. It's apparently changed very little in all those years.
After brunch I knuckled down to work and didn't stop for anything other than a sandwich in the early evening. For the first time today I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, largely aided my realising that I'd done one more orchestration than I'd initially thought. The plan is to almost kill myself for the next three days so that the back of the task is firmly broken by the mid week. On and on it goes...