We slept like the dead for ten hours straight. Closing my eyes when my head finally hit the pillow was like going under anaesthetic!
This morning we went to see my ex boyfriend, Daniel and his partner, Matthew, who have just had twin babies with a surrogate mother. Each egg was individually fertilised, so the twins are actually half-siblings, with Daniel and Matthew being the separate fathers. It never ceases to amaze me what can be done in modern medical science.
It's intriguing to watch masculine parenting in action. Neither Daniel nor Matthew uses baby language, or speaks to their children in high-pitched kiddy voices. There was also a refreshing lack of anyone trying to convince us that they're the most effortless, organised and happy parents in the world. Both admitted to finding child-rearing very tricky at times, although from my perspective they seemed incredibly good, caring, loving parents. I'm deeply intrigued to see how their children develop.
We had brunch in their garden, in the glorious sunshine... Scrambled eggs, croissants and a great big jug of freshly squeezed orange juice whilst their dog, Molly, jumped about wondering why her daddies had suddenly started ignoring her.
From Belsize Park we went to Earls Court, to the thanksgiving service for Abbie's Dad, Gary. We actually ended up going to the wrong church, and got really confused when there didn't seem to be anyone around.
Fortunately luck, and traffic were on our side, and we were only five minutes late in the end. It will, however, be the last time I ever drive to Earls Court. For four hours meter parking I paid £17, which, for a Saturday afternoon is daylight robbery and wholly unacceptable. It's less than that to park in Soho!
It was a lovely do, however. Abbie sang Not a Day Goes By beautifully. God only knows how she managed to get through such a devastating song on such an emotionally-charged occasion. We were all agreed that Gary's brother did a wonderfully brave and moving address, which made us all think about our own siblings. A little nervous chuckle went through the church when one poor woman spoonerised Abbie's parents names, Di and Gary and created Guy and Darry!
I think rather a lot of us emerged from the event realising that, in many instances, a memorial can be so much more appropriate than a funeral. Just that little bit of distance enables a much more well-considered, dare I say celebratory event. It's the second "funeral" I've been to this year without the presence of a coffin, and I'm wondering if it's not the way forward for us all.
At the end of the memorial we went to The Coleherne Pub, which, funnily enough, was where we had our 40th birthday last year. We sat on the terrace with Little Michelle and Abbie and talked about singing, Eurovision and musical theatre. Gay or what? Well we were at the Coleherne... Now the height of middle-class West London straight respectability but once one of London's most notorious gay pubs!
The Brass CD was being mastered throughout the day, and periodically I received emails and various sound files from PK or Ben (the masterer.)
We went home via the Arcola Theatre where I dropped a white label copy of the Brass CD to Mark Shenton who has very kindly agreed to review it. The CD goes to the manufacturers tomorrow and then it's completely out of my hands and I can do nothing, but try to mend my body and learn to love the show again!