Monday, 26 January 2015


We walked down Highgate West Hill to Kentish Town this morning in driving drizzle, which made us very wet and very ratty. We were walking down the hill for a meeting with Uncle Archie, which was followed by a somewhat pleasurable trip to the gym. I felt strong, and ran fast, imagining I was a fit, lithe gazelle skipping through the Veldt. Then I looked at myself in the mirror and saw Captain Caveman peering back, and my wonderful fantasy came crashing down around me!

I had beans on toast for lunch in a local spoon and took the bus back up the hill to Highgate Village where I worked in another cafe for a while.

As I wandered through Pond Square, I stumbled upon on highly un-Highgate-like sight, namely an undercover policeman putting on a stab-proof vest, and then covering it over with a puffer jacket. It was a little unnerving, if I'm honest. I wondered where he was heading and why he needed that sort of protection in Highgate of all places! People don't carry knives in Highgate: they carry copies of the Guardian. And dachshunds.

I rehearsed the Fleet Singers tonight, and spent a great deal of time in a sectional rehearsal with the tenors and basses, somewhat perturbed by the periodic bleep of hearing aids, which I initially mistook for the sound of my own tinnitus! I was reminded of a cabaret which I attended with Julie Clare's dear old Mum, who was obviously having a dreadful time with her hearing aid judging by the terrible noises it seemed to be making whilst the poor girl on stage tore herself apart in a deeply emotional rendition of a Sondheim song. The irony, of course, is that a deaf person is unlikely to be able to hear the sound of a hearing aid in crisis! When I am old and deaf, I'm going to bring back the ear trumpet. Much more bohemian... Much more "me."

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