Fitzrovia

We've just returned from a late night drink on Charlotte Street in Central London. We were at a bar called Jerusalem, which made me feel very old indeed. As the evening progressed, the music got louder and louder, and all I wanted to do was have a sit down and a natter. I hate bars. I'd much rather sit on the street outside a cafe with a hot chocolate, watching the world go by.

We were at the bar for leaving drinks. James Hadley, who used to be in charge of musical theatre at the Arts Council, is heading on to pastures new. He's fortunately remaining in the field of musical theatre, because he is a fabulous ambassador for new writers. In fact, instead of calling it a leaving drinks do, he called it a "networking event!"

I think the area of town we were in tonight is called Fitzrovia. I don't know it well. In fact, I tend to ignore it. It's a block further north than my usual Soho hangouts and it's usually ram packed with Hooray Henrys and people who work in advertising, whatever that is. What do people in advertising actually do?

All this said, I believe my parents "courted" in Fitzrovia in the late 1960s, so it plainly hasn't always been a hang out for twats. Anyway, what I could hear of the conversation over the loud music was very interesting. It's always nice to talk to fellow writers if not just to moan about how shit things are! My voice feels hoarse from shouting, however. Nathan thinks these sorts of bars are the reason why so many people have nodules these days. He's not wrong.

We ran auditions today for our secret project. We were down at Cecil Sharp House in Camden Town, home of the British folk arts movement... Which felt a little ironic. We saw some lovely performers. And that's about all I'm allowed to say...

We've started watching series two of Catastrophe, which is every bit as funny as the last one. It's on Channel 4, and I very much recommend watching it.