It's been a very quiet day. We're still coughing, wheezing and spluttering, so have spent much of our time under duvets. Doing anything is exhausting. I've been out of the house twice, on both occasions to visit the local shop, and when I got back inside, I was panting like a fat person.
I managed to do a bit of work this evening. I worked on the Nene project, playing about with a few melodies, and developing lyrics for the sequence in the Cambridgeshire Fens, where I feel begrudgingly compelled to rhyme Nene with "been."
Our kettle broke in early December, so, for the last two months, I've been boiling water on a stove like a Victorian. Fiona took great pity on us during her last visit, and, discovering that we were ill, was kind enough to send us a kettle through the post so that we could have hot lemon and honey. It was deposited at 9.30pm tonight by a very confused Amazon delivery man. Everyone gets confused by the location of our front door. It's the reason why we've never had anyone canvas us from a political party, or been trick or treated at Hallowe'en. I'm officially excited about the concept of honey and lemon.
It's a quiet news day, so if anyone reading this fancies a little blast from the past, I'd love you to have a look at a film we shot (massively guerrilla-style) about eight years ago in Soho. It features my dear friend, the eccentric, Philip Sallon, who was a 1980s club host and a founding father of both Punk and New Romanticism. We shot the film to demonstrate the fact that Soho was dying. Since this film was shot, huge areas of the district have closed down and are being replaced by fancy-brand shops, and sanitised, themed restaurants. Philip is nocturnal and, for most of his life, has spent the wee-small hours, wandering around Soho, talking to the rent boys, the trannies, the druggies, the prostitutes, the bouncers, the old school Soho-types and the club kids. This little film, which is rough as old boots, gives some sense of his adventures... Have a watch.