Conveyor belt

We had the lovely pianist, Katharine up in our loft again this morning. That sounds rude doesn't it? I assure you that we were merely working our way through a huge amount of musical material. It was like a production line. I sat to Katharine's right, feeding manuscripts onto the piano's music stand, she played the first few bars, and if it was no good, we'd move onto the next piece... We imagined a little conveyor belt dropping the music into a mini-furnace if it wasn't of a high enough standard. Remember the conveyor belt on the Generation Game? When you look back on the rubbish little things that used to troll along between those curtains, you wonder how on earth we've reached an age where game show contestants can win a million pounds... "A Kenwood Chef... A teas-maid... Crystal champagne glasses... A cuddly toy..." 

I think I'm right in saying that rules were introduced in the seventies and eighties to cap the sorts of prizes people could win on British TV game shows. "Let's have a look at what you could have won!" A Blankety Blank cheque book and pen, that's what!

I got immense cabin fever this evening and took myself down to Kentish Town for a swim in the soon-to-be-dismantled pool at the gym. The mists were swirling rather violently. In fact, I could see so little that I had to unwind all the windows and the fog actually started creeping into the car. I kept seeing long feathery fingers drifting past my face. It was weird. Of course the mist was nothing like as bad down the hill. The weather in Highgate always seems to be a little more extreme than it is in the rest of the city.

Driving down Southwood Lane was like being in a scene from Close Encounters. Periodically a set of headlights from a car heading in the opposite direction would turn a pedestrian into a strangely-shaped silhouette surrounded by fuzzy white halo. Highgate Village looked a little "Jack The Ripper" and the Heath was bathed in the most bizarre blueish light.

I go to bed tonight thinking, for the first time in an age, that things might be going to be okay. We had a good chat about our contracts. We surged forward with the script. I did some good arranging in the evening, and I think I might actually manage a good night's sleep tonight, although, at 10.30pm, we've only just sat down to eat our tea, so I might have a bit of a full stomach when my head hits the pillow.