It's midnight, and I have driven to a service station on the M1. I do this periodically when I know I'm not going to sleep. It saves me the bother of tossing and turning all night. I'll do some work whilst listening to the tinny hum of R and B on the radio. If I'm a good boy, I might treat myself to a little cake. A lone man wearing a kippah is playing an arcade game. I wonder what his story is. If he weren't so engrossed in his game, he might wonder what mine is.
I have just dropped Emma Fraser off in Saint Albans. This evening she did me the great honour of singing a song from Em at the MMD cabaret. She did a wonderful job. It's always such a splendid evening. It's so great to hear the songs that other musical theatre writers are coming up with. There's so much diversity, both in theme, musical style and within the writers themselves.
I've not had a very good day if I'm honest. I found out just after lunch that an application to the Arts Council has been turned down. I genuinely don't know what to do. It's rare that I simply can't see a solution. I ended up in a position where I was forced to place all my eggs in one basket and, I suppose, this is what happens to the unwise. The application was incredibly strong. I know this because it was elevated to a level where no negative feedback could be offered. I was merely told that "another project was preferred." Applications which receive this particular feedback are allowed to instantly reapply without changing anything on the application form. That's the great lottery of public funding. Had I put my application in a week earlier, or a week later, it may well have been that another project wasn't "preferred."
The only thing I know for certain is that I feel terribly anxious. And that I'm sitting in the London Gateway Services with a cup of tea not really knowing what to do with myself...