It's bitterly cold tonight, in a really crisp and magical sort of way. There's not a hint of that milky, halogen glow that you often get hanging like a dishcloth over London. The sky is velvet black and filled with twinkling stars. Wonderful.
And I feel better! How good does it feel to finally be able to say that? Today at the gym I was able to run without collapsing, and my stomach feels like a calm sea once again... I did wake up with tinnitus again this morning, but it was quieter than before, and I didn't hear it at all yesterday, so am hoping my body is still processing bits of displaced wax in my ears.
I had a long list of things to achieve today, but ticked very few off the list, which made me a little frustrated. Instead it took me four hours to get my head around the last three days of recording sessions on Brass, which run from tomorrow. There is much to achieve, and I will need to run the tightest of ships. Sunday is the day we'll all need to bring our absolute A games to. It's one of those sessions where no one is going to be able to stop to draw breath. It's terrifying. Truly terrifying...
Much of the other issues from yesterday have now been sorted, but dear Josh now finds himself stuck oop North, having lost his wallet with his travel pass inside. A truly terrible thing to have happened. The path to perfection is littered with mini-soap operas.
I'm proud to see the images today of people in London queuing round the block for copies of Charli Hebdo, and a little confused that religious leaders, including the Pope, are queuing up to say things like "if someone criticised your Mum, you'd punch them on the nose, wouldn't you?" I think he was trying to convince those who poke fun at religion to give it a rest to avoid causing offence, but what he actually said was those who denigrated religion should somehow accept that there might be a violent retaliation to their action. But how about turning the other cheek? And how about these religious leaders learn the difference between the spoken and written word and physical bloody violence! So, no, Mr Pope, if someone criticised my Mum, I wouldn't punch them in the face. I'd think of something witty or sarcastic to say in response. If they punched her in the face, however, I'd go ape! Violence, in my view, is what unintelligent people use instead of words.
Here's what I've never understood. If you're a Muslim, you make the choice not to draw images of Mohammed, just as a Jewish person might abstain from pork. But this is a personal choice, which brings you closer to your God and, one assumes, makes you more likely to live long and prosper in the after life. So what do you care what non-believers do? If the profit Mohammed is offended by a cartoon, he'll make damned sure the perpetrator goes straight to the other place (and I don't mean Oxford University!)
When I was a kid, on the very few occasions I'd managed to behave myself but my brother had got himself into trouble, I always felt a great sense of pride and smugness. When you're behaving really well, and you're brother's being a little shit, you'll always look that little bit more angelic in your parents' eyes, and therefore much more likely to be rewarded by Santa Claus or, better still, a trifle. A Muslim's ability to eat golden-tipped trifle in perpetuity is simply not effected by the bad behaviour of his infidel brother. Surely that's just common sense...?
Or perhaps common sense is the one thing which is lacking in all of this?