Poetry is rubbish

We've been in Catford all day today doing Craft and Cake. It's properly hot and sticky, and we've been out in the garden. I feel like I've done nothing but eat all day: lovely tomatoes and hummus, and chip butties and feta cheese, and raspberry profiteroles and caramel profiteroles, and pastas and Swiss rolls all washed down with cups and cups and cups of tea. I feel like a right fat chocolate froozler!

It's been a lovely day off, though. We went out to Sam and Julie's allotments and picked raspberries. I don't really know where the year has gone. We're right at the end of the strawberry and raspberry seasons. Soon the blackberries will be out and then it will be Autumn and I still haven't seen the sun this year!!

The day ended in a sea of candles out in the garden. I'm trying to film a little promotional video for the Great Fire movement from our forthcoming Pepys Motet album release. It's a heck of a lot of work which I rather wish I didn't have to ask people to do, because people tend to do me a lot of favours to get my projects off the ground and it starts to get a bit embarrassing to ask. I can't see any way around it, however. Without some sort of visuals, the album will disappear without trace.

We drove home through a crowded north London. Midnight in London on a Saturday night is every bit as crowded as the rush hour, except during rush hour you don't have to deal with pissed people rushing out into the road and then staring at you like you're a bastard for nearly running them over! It took us about an hour and a half to crawl our way home. On top of this, we got caught by every single traffic light. We listened to Radio 4. Poetry is rubbish isn't it? I'm tired now.