A quiet Saturday. The weather was quiet. I was quiet. Nathan was at work.
I did a bit of admin. A bit of composing. Then, when Nathan got home, we drove a mile up the A1 to order some pizzas. I did a quick shop in Sainsbury's in Muswell Hill and bumped into young Sario, one of the NYMT actors who is in Spring Awakening this year. "Have you been having fun today?" I asked. "I've been playing football" he said. "Did you win?" I asked. "No" he said, "we got relegated!" Oops! His hair looked cool. Mine, I realised, looked like a Hebredian sheep.
We watched Britain's Got Talent and enjoyed the all-male, all-black opera-singing man band. They weren't the most amazing singers I've ever heard, but I predict they'll do very well for themselves. They sang Nimrod set to uninspiring lyrics and the audience went wild. Of course they did. Nimrod goes straight to the heart of every British person. I wish TV programme makers would sometimes acknowledge that audiences often applaud music rather than performances.
How many adverts must I watch with adults lip-syncing to the sounds of children speaking? There's a hideous set of adverts for Haribo sweeties and one for Harry Potter World where a series of Rep actors make themselves look like compete tits. To make matters worse, the voice-overs are very unlikely to be done by actual children and far more likely to be done by adults pretending to be children. So, actually what we're viewing in these adverts is adult actors pretending to be adult actors pretending to be children. Layer upon layer of ghastliness.
So we've traumatised ourselves by watching Steve Backshall roaming around a tropical jungle man-handling tarantulas. I literally watched the show with my teeth permanently clenched and my fingers in every contortion under the sun. Why would anyone want to live in a country where there are electric eels?