Thursday, 11 December 2014

Lemon meringue

I'm heading back to London. The little trundling train which took me from Worthing to Hove has suddenly become a high speed express, and I'll be at Victoria in just over an hour. I can't wait to get home. The last few days have been wonderful, but incredibly tiring, and I have promised myself a lie-in tomorrow.  I've scheduled a cold to kick in at about 11pm tonight, and fully expect to wake up tomorrow morning coughing and spluttering.

I do feel like a massive weight is now off my shoulders, however. On any project, there are a series of key moments, and this was the first on the journey to the release of the Brass soundtrack. So far, so good... Next, we have to hope that all the musicians and performers will arrive in the studio well-prepared and ready to make serious magic.

I have little stubs of tunes from the show bouncing around in my head alongside the echoes of the various keyboard sounds we've grown rather fond of recently.

PK's computer behaved itself today. I believe it received a firm talking to from its master last night, who then, very kindly, did a whole heap of homework which meant we were able to sail triumphantly through today, with only one or two moments where it felt like we were in murky waters.

We had a delicious bowl of pasta for lunch. What is it about food in someone else's house which is always so much more tasty? Fiona cooked bread last night which was so lovely I could have stuffed it in a suitcase for an elderly relative (Heidi-style) right then and there!

We had a great walk after I'd returned to Hove yesterday, from Fiona's house along the seafront all the way to Brighton pier and back via the high road. It was brilliantly blustery. The sea was foaming and frothing and I was glad of my gloves and scarf. I do sometimes envy the people who live in Brighton and Hove. The pace of life is considerably more laid back and there doesn't seem to be the same amount of anger and dissatisfaction on the streets.

I was, however, slightly perturbed to read, in Worthing's premier local newspaper, that there are an increasing number of False Widow spiders in Sussex, which, I'm told, can give you a bite more painful than a bee sting, which can blister and get infected. One poor woman on the front of the newspaper had been bitten by one in her sleep. Apparently they're easy to spot because of their "distinctive" markings. Sadly, the newspaper didn't think it necessary to describe what these distinctive markings actually look like... *quickly googles* Christ, they're gross! Like coffee beans with beige moths drawn on their backs.

I went home via Marks and Spencer where I bought a lemon meringue pie. As I got to the counter, the woman asked whether I'd like a bag. I said yes. "Small or large?" She asked. "Well that rather depends on which of the two my pie box will fit into. How big is small? You probably have more idea than me." She picked up a small bag, turned the pie upside down, and shook it violently as she started cramming it into a small bag, which immediately ripped like a flimsy piece of tissue paper. It all seemed such a pointless exercise, and now my pie has been shaken into a mass of its constituent parts. The lass behind me in the queue had a basket full of shopping and was asked the same question. She looked as genuinely perplexed as I'd felt!

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