Sunday, 27 September 2015


We were up very early this morning to catch our flight back to London. It seemed ludicrously early, but then I opened the curtains, took a sniff of pure the alpine air and watched as the orange sun crept up over the mountain behind the hotel, allowing Turin's roof tops, which had been a grey slate colour, to turn a vivid shade of red. It was a truly majestic sight.

We were through customs and security at the airport ludicrously quickly. Italians genuinely don't give a shit about these things. They didn't even look at my passport! All this meant we had a bit of a wait at the gate, which would have been fine had they not been playing splatter Jazz on the airport music system. You know the sort of music I mean? It goes on forever, with a series of wind instruments playing atonal relentless semi quavers. Airports are meant to be calming places. This music made me wonder whether I was having some sort of eppy.

It seems strange to be back in London. We've only actually been gone for two days but it feels like forever, to the extent that I assumed the milk in the fridge would have gone off in our absence. It hadn't.

Of course gallivanting about Italy has left us with a mountain of work to do, so today was the turn of Brass. On and on it goes, so on and on I worked. I really shouldn't be sitting working at midnight on a Saturday, but here I am! I am in the process of fine-tuning the Prologue, which is the last of the twenty songs I've got to format for publishing. Yawn. Yawn. I hate this show. It's made me boring.

I've had the telly on in the background all day today. I'm told there's some kind of Rugby tournament going on at the moment which I'm trying to avoid if I'm honest, so have watched everything and anything else, including shows about Capability Brown, Wallace Simpson, Princess Diana's dresses and penis enlargements. That's Channel 4 for you! Not that I actually watched any of it. I was under headphones. Penis enlargement operations are not the nicest things to glance up at mid-bar!

We sat down to watch Strictly, and played the "what's wrong with Tess' dress?" game. It's come to our attention that there's always one thing which prevents what she's wearing from being lovely. Yesterday's problem was the spiky d├ęcolletage, which made her look like like an exploded Christmas cracker. Tonight's dress was just a few inches too long, and seemed to drag along the floor behind her like a hotel towel.

We adore Claudia, however, and her clowning about. It strikes me that there are very few comedians around at the moment whose acts are based on clowning or buffoonery, and I appreciate the fact that her brand of humour isn't afraid to go there.

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