I'm currently making myself a sort of mixed vegetable platter for tea. This must be what the French call an assiette de legumes. It's the only thing you ever get offered as a vegetarian in Paris. Well, that and omelettes. I always opt for the latter, and then spend my meal searching for the inevitable specks of ham that they've slipped in, with vitriol. Whilst steaming a pan of peas, carrots and sweet corn, I'm also boiling an egg for the Tyndarids. Rats go crazy for boiled eggs, and as I'm insisting that our boys grow up vegetarian, we need to give them a good dose of protein every so often, so their coats stay nice and shiny...
There was a mortifying incident in Costa today when the girl behind the counter asked if I wanted to redeem some of the points I've collected. I said I didn’t. She looked at me rather curiously, “are all these points just from cups of tea?” she asked. “Yes” I replied. “Well, there's rather a lot of them. How many cups of tea do you drink?” I immediately blushed, which made her blush. I couldn't think of anything to say, so there was an awkward silence, whilst I pretended to laugh because I didn't know if she was joking. It was at that point I wondered quite how much money I'd wasted in that cafe. How many cups of tea is "rather a lot?" and at £1.65 a pop, how much money does this amount to? Now that I'm signing on, should I be staying at home and drinking Tesco's own brand?
I've been reading Ian Clayton’s book, Our Billie. Ian interviewed me a month ago about A Symphony For Yorkshire and I was extremely impressed with his outlook on life. His book is about the death, by drowning, of his 9-year old daughter and it’s deeply harrowing, but somehow incredibly uplifting. It's really a book about love. He writes a great deal about community. He comes from a Yorkshire town where people truly look out for one another.
His book has made me think a great deal about my own views on community. The work I do is very much centred on groups of people sharing a commonality of some sort. I'm often described, or perversely accused of having a slightly rose-coloured view about life, specifically communities. Supporters would call it a sense of magic, critics, a tragic optimism.
I look back at my childhood in Northamptonshire and realise I never really felt a sense of belonging to the town in which I grew up. It wasn’t easy. My Dad was a local teacher, I was a vegetarian, my mother was a hippy and my brother was a "boffin." This was apparently enough of a communal crime for us to merit regular bricks through our windows. As an eight-year old boy, I fell off my roller skates at the end of my street and was immediately surrounded by a ring of teenagers who took it in turns to spit at me. It was character building incidents like this that understandably made me withdraw somewhat from my surroundings. I started looking down at the people around me. They'd rejected me, so I'd reject them. I was often accused at school as having a "isolationist stance" but I didn't care because my community was 15 miles down the A45 at the music school in Northampton; which was a community, if you like, of outsiders just like me.
As a result of all of this, I've often doubted that a community can exist purely on the strength of environment. I often struggle with shows like Eastenders. Why do these characters only hang out with those who live in their neighbourhood? What do they actually have in common? Why would anyone want to drink in a local pub?! But then, reading Ian’s book, reminds me that this life does exist in a world beyond my television set. Neighbours genuinely care for one another in many towns across the country, including the place where my parents now live. It's just something I've never been a part of in my London-based bubble, and the reason why I was so excited to meet some of my neighbours a few weeks ago, and ironically why I've dedicated my life to making films about communities!
The 7th September 1660, and Pepys wrote one of his shortest ever diary entries, on account of his having stayed in all day, there being nothing to do the in the office. He was rather pleased, as the day off gave him the chance to start the process of going through his books and tidying things in his house. Pepys informs us at the end of the entry that it was on this day that Montagu set sail for Holland from the Downs.
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
Monday, 6 September 2010
Go Compare
Waking up this morning was pretty difficult. It always is on a Monday morning. I walked down the Archway Road in milky sunlight to Holloway Road to sign on. It strikes me as very odd that I need to walk that far. What if I were elderly or had a broken leg? Would the authorities offer to pay for my bus journey every two weeks? I’ve always maintained that the Highgate job centre is a mile and a half away from Highgate because the residents refused to allow there to be a gathering of riff-raff in their midst. I assume that they assume that the people who don’t work in Highgate are doing so because they don’t need to. Judging by the people I sit with every day in the cafe, they might be right.
I staggered my way back up Highgate Hill, my heavy computer bag strapped to my shoulder. At one point I thought I was going to pass out. I’m sure it will do me good. I dreamt last night that I’d filmed myself for a documentary talking about my eating disorders. For some reason, I’d decided to do the whole “interview” underneath a blanket, with the camera under there with me, and a torch for lighting. I’d filmed myself with a particularly unflattering angle from below. When I watched the footage back, I looked like the fat tenor in the Go Compare adverts. It looked like I was wearing some form of prosthetic. My double chin went from ear to ear.
More wealthy children vomiting incredibly loud, screamy conversation all over the cafe this afternoon. At one stage I wanted to scream myself. It's incredible the effect that lots of girls shouting can have on one's emotions.
Aside from all this, I've been very sad today for two reasons; firstly because my dear friend, Ted’s Grannie, Nora, died yesterday at the ripe old age of 99. I remember her being at all the concerts we played at as children and staying in her house near Manchester as a sixth former. I'm also sad because Mike Edwards, the ‘cellist, and founder member of the great Electric Light Orchestra also died over the weekend. Edwards was a true showman, who I’m told used to have an exploding ‘cello and sometimes played with a grapefruit, which I'd loved to have seen. Rather horrifically, his van was crushed by an enormous rolling bale of hay, which seems almost too comic to be true. He will be sadly missed.
It was a bitty day for Pepys 350 years ago. He spent much of his time gossiping, mostly about money, and the rest of the day organising provisions for the fleet of ships waiting in the Downs. In the evening, he dined on a joint of meat, before organising the remainder of his books to be sent from Montagu’s to his new house at the Navy Office.
I staggered my way back up Highgate Hill, my heavy computer bag strapped to my shoulder. At one point I thought I was going to pass out. I’m sure it will do me good. I dreamt last night that I’d filmed myself for a documentary talking about my eating disorders. For some reason, I’d decided to do the whole “interview” underneath a blanket, with the camera under there with me, and a torch for lighting. I’d filmed myself with a particularly unflattering angle from below. When I watched the footage back, I looked like the fat tenor in the Go Compare adverts. It looked like I was wearing some form of prosthetic. My double chin went from ear to ear.
More wealthy children vomiting incredibly loud, screamy conversation all over the cafe this afternoon. At one stage I wanted to scream myself. It's incredible the effect that lots of girls shouting can have on one's emotions.
Aside from all this, I've been very sad today for two reasons; firstly because my dear friend, Ted’s Grannie, Nora, died yesterday at the ripe old age of 99. I remember her being at all the concerts we played at as children and staying in her house near Manchester as a sixth former. I'm also sad because Mike Edwards, the ‘cellist, and founder member of the great Electric Light Orchestra also died over the weekend. Edwards was a true showman, who I’m told used to have an exploding ‘cello and sometimes played with a grapefruit, which I'd loved to have seen. Rather horrifically, his van was crushed by an enormous rolling bale of hay, which seems almost too comic to be true. He will be sadly missed.
It was a bitty day for Pepys 350 years ago. He spent much of his time gossiping, mostly about money, and the rest of the day organising provisions for the fleet of ships waiting in the Downs. In the evening, he dined on a joint of meat, before organising the remainder of his books to be sent from Montagu’s to his new house at the Navy Office.
Sunday, 5 September 2010
Bonkers
I’m in a bit of an anxious place at the moment. This is no doubt something to do with it being a Sunday night. I’ve got that feeling I used to get on a Sunday night when I hadn’t done my homework. I suppose I’m just panicking about all the things I need to do in the coming week; most of them relating to the Pepys motet. Very soon I’ll need to know exactly who’s going to be performing it, but so much is up in the air at the moment. There are way too many singers I’d like to use for the early music choir, and feel some of them could be moved across to different choirs, but at the same time, this project needs to be about legitimacy, and there’s no point chucking someone into a folk choir who doesn’t have at least a passion for folk music... The main problem is that I’m doing it all by myself. I don’t have anyone to talk to about things, especially now that Nathan is off to do singing gigs across the country for the next few weeks. There’s no Alison, or a massive BBC team working on this one. I suppose once I’ve finished writing the piece, it’s going to be easier. I can take off my composer’s hat, and stick on a more organised one.
I spent the afternoon with Philippa, Dylan and my goddaughter, Deia, who’s turned into a proper little chatty thing with a seemingly enormous vocabulary. She recognised a watering can today, and pointed at a sheep in Hackney Farm, and said “little pig.” She’s mimicking words left, right and centre, so I suppose now’s the time not to swear, to avoid the embarrassing occasions when she shouts rude words in monasteries. I told Philippa she was being ridiculous at one stage, and the word was repeated several times. Thank God I only said ridiculous. We sat for some time, Deia and I, posting little stones through a slatted wooden garden table. We were seeing which stones were small enough to fall through the gaps and I suddenly realised how interesting little children become when they start to gain a meaningful vocabulary! She’s still talking about herself in the third person, however, but I’m told all children do that. One step at a time... She’ll soon be reading Virginia Wolf.
September 5th 1660, and Pepys was visited by the father of his recently “put away” houseboy. One assumes the father was trying to change Pepys’ mind. I suspect the term "put away" means a great deal more in this context than being merely sacked. I suspect this particular lad was more likely on his way to Australia... Pepys explained about the lad’s countless misdemeanours, and begrudgingly his father accepted the situation. Pepys, perhaps feeling guilt, or sympathy, gave the father 10s for the boy’s uniform, which obviously the father had paid for when he put his lad in Pepys’ service. The thought of this man going away with 10s in his pocket and the knowledge that his boy would almost certainly be sent down under, almost breaks my heart.
Elizabeth, apparently “ became impatient” later in the day, so Pepys took her shopping and bought a pearl necklace for a whopping 4l 10s “which I am willing to comply with her in for her encouragement, and because I have lately got money, having now above 200l in cash beforehand in the world.” Not that I’m a cynic, but I’d suggest this extravagant gift was maybe bought out of guilt. Less than 24 hours before, Pepys was rolling around in a bed, with a barely teenaged girl, in his former house in Axe Yard.
I spent the afternoon with Philippa, Dylan and my goddaughter, Deia, who’s turned into a proper little chatty thing with a seemingly enormous vocabulary. She recognised a watering can today, and pointed at a sheep in Hackney Farm, and said “little pig.” She’s mimicking words left, right and centre, so I suppose now’s the time not to swear, to avoid the embarrassing occasions when she shouts rude words in monasteries. I told Philippa she was being ridiculous at one stage, and the word was repeated several times. Thank God I only said ridiculous. We sat for some time, Deia and I, posting little stones through a slatted wooden garden table. We were seeing which stones were small enough to fall through the gaps and I suddenly realised how interesting little children become when they start to gain a meaningful vocabulary! She’s still talking about herself in the third person, however, but I’m told all children do that. One step at a time... She’ll soon be reading Virginia Wolf.
...Or by the looks of this picture, listening to Dizzee Rascal
September 5th 1660, and Pepys was visited by the father of his recently “put away” houseboy. One assumes the father was trying to change Pepys’ mind. I suspect the term "put away" means a great deal more in this context than being merely sacked. I suspect this particular lad was more likely on his way to Australia... Pepys explained about the lad’s countless misdemeanours, and begrudgingly his father accepted the situation. Pepys, perhaps feeling guilt, or sympathy, gave the father 10s for the boy’s uniform, which obviously the father had paid for when he put his lad in Pepys’ service. The thought of this man going away with 10s in his pocket and the knowledge that his boy would almost certainly be sent down under, almost breaks my heart.
Elizabeth, apparently “ became impatient” later in the day, so Pepys took her shopping and bought a pearl necklace for a whopping 4l 10s “which I am willing to comply with her in for her encouragement, and because I have lately got money, having now above 200l in cash beforehand in the world.” Not that I’m a cynic, but I’d suggest this extravagant gift was maybe bought out of guilt. Less than 24 hours before, Pepys was rolling around in a bed, with a barely teenaged girl, in his former house in Axe Yard.
Saturday, 4 September 2010
Nulla puella negat
It’s been another rather lovely late summer day today, but I seem to have done nothing but sit on a sofa writing music. I was waiting for an important delivery for Nathan which annoyingly never came. We put an enormous sign on the front door saying; “Delivery for 343a. Bell not working, please call...” but it was obviously more than our postman’s job was worth to actually pick up his phone. At about midday I discovered a “whilst you were out we tried to deliver a parcel” card on the doormat. There are no words...
Last night I went to the Open Air Theatre in Regent’s Park to watch Into The Woods. A belated birthday present from my dear friend Ellen. It’s an absolutely perfect location for that show. The set was beyond beautiful; an enormous four-tiered wooden structure, which seemed to cling to the giant trees at the back of the stage area. The show itself was patchy. The director had a “concept”, which rather destroyed the integrity of the show and I went away feeling less moved than I would have done had he left things well alone. Hannah Waddingham (the Witch), Michael Xavier (the Prince/ Wolf) and Jenna Russell (the Baker’s Wife) were wonderful, but the guy playing the Baker wasn’t a good enough singer to play the role. Unfortunately they decided to cast an “actor”, which is always a mistake in the land of Sondheim. I was also disappointed by the distinctly underwhelming actress playing Cinderella who had a vibrato that you could swim through. Still, it will take me a long time to forget that wonderful setting. The performance started at dusk, with a magnificent pink sunset still in the sky, and all the way through the show, there was the continuous magical sound of wind rustling through the trees.
Tomorrow was meant to be the BBC4 premier of the film they made about the making of A Symphony for Yorkshire. Unfortunately there seems to have been some kind of disagreement within the internal political mechanisms of the BBC, which meant that it was on and then it was off and then it was on and then it was off again. I wasn’t sure that the BBC were actually able to change their minds like that, particularly so late in the day, and with something that was already on the listings, but changed their minds they have. Oh well, I’m assured it will be screened later in the year. I just wish I hadn’t sent out an email telling everyone it was on!
September 4th 1660, and Pepys, yet again, had the builders in, installing a new floor in his dining room. Pepys and his friends Dr Fuller and Mr Moore returned to the Bull Head tavern at lunch time. Keen readers of this blog will remember that the three of them had shared a very fine venison pasty there a few days ago. There had been an argument about theatre, which they decided could only be resolved a few days later whilst eating the remainder of said pasty. Pepys was given the deciding vote and came down on Dr Fuller’s side, which meant Mr Moore lost 10s.
In the early evening, Pepys called in on his old house in Axe Yard and bumped into Diana Crisp, daughter of his former neighbour, Mrs Crisp. Diana was the young girl who’d been so flirty with Pepys two nights previously. He seized the moment and took her upstairs “and did dally with her a great while, and found that in Latin Nulla puella negat”, which rather hideously means, “no young girl says no.” Just you wait, Mr Pepys, until 1669, when a certain young girl will use pins to protect herself from your rogueish advances!
Last night I went to the Open Air Theatre in Regent’s Park to watch Into The Woods. A belated birthday present from my dear friend Ellen. It’s an absolutely perfect location for that show. The set was beyond beautiful; an enormous four-tiered wooden structure, which seemed to cling to the giant trees at the back of the stage area. The show itself was patchy. The director had a “concept”, which rather destroyed the integrity of the show and I went away feeling less moved than I would have done had he left things well alone. Hannah Waddingham (the Witch), Michael Xavier (the Prince/ Wolf) and Jenna Russell (the Baker’s Wife) were wonderful, but the guy playing the Baker wasn’t a good enough singer to play the role. Unfortunately they decided to cast an “actor”, which is always a mistake in the land of Sondheim. I was also disappointed by the distinctly underwhelming actress playing Cinderella who had a vibrato that you could swim through. Still, it will take me a long time to forget that wonderful setting. The performance started at dusk, with a magnificent pink sunset still in the sky, and all the way through the show, there was the continuous magical sound of wind rustling through the trees.
Helen and a very expensive programme...
Tomorrow was meant to be the BBC4 premier of the film they made about the making of A Symphony for Yorkshire. Unfortunately there seems to have been some kind of disagreement within the internal political mechanisms of the BBC, which meant that it was on and then it was off and then it was on and then it was off again. I wasn’t sure that the BBC were actually able to change their minds like that, particularly so late in the day, and with something that was already on the listings, but changed their minds they have. Oh well, I’m assured it will be screened later in the year. I just wish I hadn’t sent out an email telling everyone it was on!
September 4th 1660, and Pepys, yet again, had the builders in, installing a new floor in his dining room. Pepys and his friends Dr Fuller and Mr Moore returned to the Bull Head tavern at lunch time. Keen readers of this blog will remember that the three of them had shared a very fine venison pasty there a few days ago. There had been an argument about theatre, which they decided could only be resolved a few days later whilst eating the remainder of said pasty. Pepys was given the deciding vote and came down on Dr Fuller’s side, which meant Mr Moore lost 10s.
In the early evening, Pepys called in on his old house in Axe Yard and bumped into Diana Crisp, daughter of his former neighbour, Mrs Crisp. Diana was the young girl who’d been so flirty with Pepys two nights previously. He seized the moment and took her upstairs “and did dally with her a great while, and found that in Latin Nulla puella negat”, which rather hideously means, “no young girl says no.” Just you wait, Mr Pepys, until 1669, when a certain young girl will use pins to protect herself from your rogueish advances!
Friday, 3 September 2010
Toilet Cap
It’s an absolutely beautiful day today and I'm sitting having my lunch in Waterlow Park, listening to the birds, the game of tennis behind me and the distant groan of an aeroplane. The place is almost empty, I assume because the kids have started to go back to school, or perhaps because they’re all in Woolworth’s buying stationery. At least they would be if Woolworth's still existed. Sadly missed...
There was a group of kids in the cafe this morning who were like a teenaged, plummy version of Sex In The City. One of them was called Elektra! She oozed confidence and charm, until she spilt two enormous vats of hot chocolate all over the place, but even then she seemed to deal with things in a fairly un-flustered sort of way. I suppose if you’ve got a name like Elektra, you’ve really got to step up to the plate!
I found out today that my film, Watford Gap: The Musical, has been nominated for a Gillard Award, which means that every film I’ve made has now been nominated, or won some kind of pretty nice award, for which the Great Lord in all of his infinite wisdom and humour be thanked.
I'm seriously worried about finding gospel and folk singers for the motet, and pretty scared about the concept of finding trebles if St Paul's School can't help. It's occupying my thoughts so much that I ordered a tea this morning, stood at the counter as they made it and then walked away, sat down and started writing lists. It was only after I tried to pour tea out of my previous(empty) teapot that I realised the tea I'd bought some five minutes ago was still on the counter. Cold as a corpse.
September 3rd 1660 was a busy day for Pepys. It started with a visit to an unnamed goldsmith near the New Exchange. Pepys informs us that it was here that he bought his wedding ring, but today he was there on behalf of Montagu, who wanted a ring attached to an extravagant jewel he’d been awarded by the King of Sweden. His plan was to make a “George” out of it to wear around his neck with his Order of the Garter garb.
Montagu left for sea at noon and Pepys was rather thrilled to see the kindness with which “the King did hug my Lord at his partning”. Pepys went to Lambeth with his master, and saw him onto the coach which would take him through Kent towards the Cinque ports. It reminded Pepys of Montagu’s first trip overseas; a visit to the Mediterranean in February 1656, which also started in a coach at Lambeth.
Pepys arrived home to discover one of Montagu’s servants waiting for him. Montagu had forgotten to pack a whole host of things including “a toilet cap” (any ideas?) and a “comb of silk to make use of in Holland, for he goes to The Hague”.
There was a group of kids in the cafe this morning who were like a teenaged, plummy version of Sex In The City. One of them was called Elektra! She oozed confidence and charm, until she spilt two enormous vats of hot chocolate all over the place, but even then she seemed to deal with things in a fairly un-flustered sort of way. I suppose if you’ve got a name like Elektra, you’ve really got to step up to the plate!
I found out today that my film, Watford Gap: The Musical, has been nominated for a Gillard Award, which means that every film I’ve made has now been nominated, or won some kind of pretty nice award, for which the Great Lord in all of his infinite wisdom and humour be thanked.
I'm seriously worried about finding gospel and folk singers for the motet, and pretty scared about the concept of finding trebles if St Paul's School can't help. It's occupying my thoughts so much that I ordered a tea this morning, stood at the counter as they made it and then walked away, sat down and started writing lists. It was only after I tried to pour tea out of my previous(empty) teapot that I realised the tea I'd bought some five minutes ago was still on the counter. Cold as a corpse.
September 3rd 1660 was a busy day for Pepys. It started with a visit to an unnamed goldsmith near the New Exchange. Pepys informs us that it was here that he bought his wedding ring, but today he was there on behalf of Montagu, who wanted a ring attached to an extravagant jewel he’d been awarded by the King of Sweden. His plan was to make a “George” out of it to wear around his neck with his Order of the Garter garb.
Montagu left for sea at noon and Pepys was rather thrilled to see the kindness with which “the King did hug my Lord at his partning”. Pepys went to Lambeth with his master, and saw him onto the coach which would take him through Kent towards the Cinque ports. It reminded Pepys of Montagu’s first trip overseas; a visit to the Mediterranean in February 1656, which also started in a coach at Lambeth.
Pepys arrived home to discover one of Montagu’s servants waiting for him. Montagu had forgotten to pack a whole host of things including “a toilet cap” (any ideas?) and a “comb of silk to make use of in Holland, for he goes to The Hague”.
Thursday, 2 September 2010
A warped ode to the Beverley Sisters
Ooh... It’s 11.42pm and I've not yet blogged! Crumbs...
It’s been a pretty hectic day, which started in Costa and ended on the sofa watching telly and eating chips.
In the meantime I did a squillion auditions for Pepys, which have put me into a major crisis because I now can’t decide on the people I want for the early music choir; and that’s about the only definitive decision I'll be able to make at this stage. It's an incredibly frustrating process. There are many people I would like to be able to feature, but so few people who have versatile enough voices for me to be able to parachute them into another choir.
I met some particularly wonderful singers today; and got to hear a section from movement five bursting into life. The sequence when Elizabeth discovers Samuel in flagrante delicto seems to have become like a form of warped ode to the Beverley Sisters! It shouldn’t work, but it sort of does! It was wonderful to hear it being sung...
My very old and dear friend, Tash from Northamptonshire called in to St Olave’s Church to say hello and ended up being hauled in to sing various missing harmonies. It was wonderful to see her, but I felt incredibly guilty that she ended up working her ass off. For a long period she was even singing tenor.
September 2nd 1660 was a Sunday and Pepys went to church... twice. He'd based himself in Westminster because Montagu was due to set sail very early the following morning. Towards the end of the day he made the decision to stay the night at Montagu Towers and sent W Hewer home to tell Elizabeth that he wouldn’t be returning until the following day. With no sight of his Lord, he called in on his former neighbour, Mrs Crisp and her family, who were obviously thrilled to have a guest, because they immediately cracked open the booze and started behaving inappropriately. Pepys’ last sentence says it all: “I drank til the daughter began to be very loving to me and kind, and I fear is not so good as she should be.” Eek!
It’s been a pretty hectic day, which started in Costa and ended on the sofa watching telly and eating chips.
In the meantime I did a squillion auditions for Pepys, which have put me into a major crisis because I now can’t decide on the people I want for the early music choir; and that’s about the only definitive decision I'll be able to make at this stage. It's an incredibly frustrating process. There are many people I would like to be able to feature, but so few people who have versatile enough voices for me to be able to parachute them into another choir.
I met some particularly wonderful singers today; and got to hear a section from movement five bursting into life. The sequence when Elizabeth discovers Samuel in flagrante delicto seems to have become like a form of warped ode to the Beverley Sisters! It shouldn’t work, but it sort of does! It was wonderful to hear it being sung...
My very old and dear friend, Tash from Northamptonshire called in to St Olave’s Church to say hello and ended up being hauled in to sing various missing harmonies. It was wonderful to see her, but I felt incredibly guilty that she ended up working her ass off. For a long period she was even singing tenor.
September 2nd 1660 was a Sunday and Pepys went to church... twice. He'd based himself in Westminster because Montagu was due to set sail very early the following morning. Towards the end of the day he made the decision to stay the night at Montagu Towers and sent W Hewer home to tell Elizabeth that he wouldn’t be returning until the following day. With no sight of his Lord, he called in on his former neighbour, Mrs Crisp and her family, who were obviously thrilled to have a guest, because they immediately cracked open the booze and started behaving inappropriately. Pepys’ last sentence says it all: “I drank til the daughter began to be very loving to me and kind, and I fear is not so good as she should be.” Eek!
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
Sloppy Guiseppi
We had a lovely evening last night with Hilary and Rupert on their boat in Chelsea Harbour. It’s called the Cailliach, named after a dark, mystical, mythical Scottish crone. It’s suitably eccentric; a big, beautiful, ancient wooden craft, which is surrounded, as you might expect for Chelsea, by rather soulless pleasure cruisers. Entering the boat is like entering the 1920s. It's undeniably compact, but has an astonishing amount of character. There are all sorts of interesting nooks and crannies; little wooden cupboards which reveal the most intriguing little rooms and storage spaces. There’s a dining room, a sitting room with a glorious wood-burning stove, a brilliantly-equipped galley and a tiny bathroom with an actual bath! Everywhere you look, there’s the most stunning wood panelling. Obviously, I'm covered in bruises today from hitting various parts of my body, attempting to negotiate rather tight spaces, but it truly is a magnificent little home. I wholeheartedly approve!
The company and food was rather fine as well. We ate the most delicious stroganoff and a fabulous goats cheese flan for starters. On the way home, Hils took us through a Design Centre that sits next to the harbour and seems to remain open all night, like a weird scene from a horror movie. You go in, and there’s this strange musak being pumped everywhere. The place is lit up like a Christmas tree, yet there’s absolutely no one around. No one at all. Not even a security desk. Why would it stay open after all the shops have closed? Why weren’t lines of vagrants sleeping in there? Why hadn’t someone nicked one of the freaky models of sheep that peer at you from every corner of the place? I wondered if I'd suddenly walked into some kind of art-house film...
Today, the sun continued to shine. I worked all morning and then went to meet the three generations of women in my God-daughter’s family at Highgate Woods. It was very charming. We had a lovely lunch in the outdoor cafe and then played on the swings. Deia is extremely confident nowadays, particularly physically. She was giving her Grandmother a few minor panics by rushing to the top of a slide and then throwing herself down, using a horizontal metal pole as leverage.
September 1st 1660, and Pepys was organising things for Montagu’s trip to sea; specifically a vessel to carry his belongings out to the Downs; an area of sea off the coast of Kent which was used as a sort of gathering point for warships and large ships heading off on global adventures.
Pepys lunched with Henry Moore the lawyer and Dr Timothy Clerk at the Bull Head in Westminster upon the “best venison pasty” he claimed ever to have eaten. And it got better; “with one dish more, it was the best dinner I ever was at.” Clerk and Moore had a heated argument about theatre and Pepys was asked to mediate. It was decided the three men would go away, think about things, and then return in three days’ time to resolve the debate whilst eating the remainder of the pasty. I assume taverns in those days had no qualms about storing un-finished food for people. Imagine trying that in Pizza Express? "Sorry, I'm a bit full, do you mind hanging onto half of this Sloppy Guiseppi for a few days? I'll be back next Tuesday to finish it off..." Quite how nice a 3-day old venison pasty would be is also a matter for debate.
The company and food was rather fine as well. We ate the most delicious stroganoff and a fabulous goats cheese flan for starters. On the way home, Hils took us through a Design Centre that sits next to the harbour and seems to remain open all night, like a weird scene from a horror movie. You go in, and there’s this strange musak being pumped everywhere. The place is lit up like a Christmas tree, yet there’s absolutely no one around. No one at all. Not even a security desk. Why would it stay open after all the shops have closed? Why weren’t lines of vagrants sleeping in there? Why hadn’t someone nicked one of the freaky models of sheep that peer at you from every corner of the place? I wondered if I'd suddenly walked into some kind of art-house film...
Today, the sun continued to shine. I worked all morning and then went to meet the three generations of women in my God-daughter’s family at Highgate Woods. It was very charming. We had a lovely lunch in the outdoor cafe and then played on the swings. Deia is extremely confident nowadays, particularly physically. She was giving her Grandmother a few minor panics by rushing to the top of a slide and then throwing herself down, using a horizontal metal pole as leverage.
September 1st 1660, and Pepys was organising things for Montagu’s trip to sea; specifically a vessel to carry his belongings out to the Downs; an area of sea off the coast of Kent which was used as a sort of gathering point for warships and large ships heading off on global adventures.
Pepys lunched with Henry Moore the lawyer and Dr Timothy Clerk at the Bull Head in Westminster upon the “best venison pasty” he claimed ever to have eaten. And it got better; “with one dish more, it was the best dinner I ever was at.” Clerk and Moore had a heated argument about theatre and Pepys was asked to mediate. It was decided the three men would go away, think about things, and then return in three days’ time to resolve the debate whilst eating the remainder of the pasty. I assume taverns in those days had no qualms about storing un-finished food for people. Imagine trying that in Pizza Express? "Sorry, I'm a bit full, do you mind hanging onto half of this Sloppy Guiseppi for a few days? I'll be back next Tuesday to finish it off..." Quite how nice a 3-day old venison pasty would be is also a matter for debate.
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