Is it just me who wishes this horribly grey and rainy weather would just go away? I am sick to death of smelling like a wet dog every time I get on a tube!
I'm currently on my way back from the City. We're crammed in like cattle and everyone is sweating profusely. I've seldom felt so uncomfortable on the underground.
My parents are off to see the National Youth Orchestra playing at the Barbican tonight. They've been given VIP tickets by Jim and are hugely excited. I met them at Liverpool Street Station, essentially to show them the way from there to the concert hall, but we had hours to kill, so I took them on a tour of Spitalfields and Brick Lane.
We ate in an "English restaurant", which stood out, rather ironically as being unusual. The food was wonderful, but the servings were 1980s minimal, so much that I had to whisk my father off to a beigel shop for a little something extra afterwards! The detour meant I could take the parents down Fournier Street, which has always been my favourite road in the whole of London. It has such a peculiar atmosphere; heavy and ghostly. It can't have changed at all since Victorian Times. It almost smells of those old Jewish streets. For some reason, I find the area deeply compelling, quite possibly because a whole branch of my family were silk weavers in the area.
Bizarrely, I've just noticed the woman opposite me on the tube is reading a magazine, which has a photograph on the front page of artists Gilbert and George standing on the corner of that very street! It's funny how things like that happen.
January 7th 1661, and Pepys woke up to the news that religious fanatics had been running riot through the streets during the night and had killed 6 or 7 people. London immediately went into a state of emergency; 40,000 troops were deployed, and check-points were set up at every corner. Exciting biting, as my Dad would say! Oddly, coming back to the present momentarily, I've just read that the powers that be now expect a terrorist attack to be imminent. 350 years on, and nothing has changed!
Pepys went to the theatre with his wife and brother. They saw a Ben Johnson play and marvelled at a boy actor who was playing an old crone before metamorphosing into "the most handsome woman in the theatre".
Today was the chosen celebration of Twelfth night. There was a lavish party and the "King Cake" was cut. Hidden within the cake, as was the tradition of the times, were a pair of tiny figurines dressed as a king and a queen and those lucky enough to find them in their portion, would have various duties for the duration of the party. Perhaps unsurprisingly it was Elizabeth who found herself with the Queen, for, I believe, the second year running!
Friday, 7 January 2011
Thursday, 6 January 2011
The mystery of the white towels
The mystery of the white towels has finally been solved! Keen readers of this blog will remember that a strange package from John Lewis appeared on our doorstep at the start of December. I didn’t know if it was an early Christmas present, or a gift for someone else, because there was no message attached. I called all my friends and family, but no one had any idea what I was talking about!
Fortunately, I received an email this morning from Jane, who sung in the Pepys Motet, asking if I’d received the slightly eccentric gift she’d sent to say thank you for the experience. And at that moment, the penny dropped! She must have thought I was so rude for not saying thank you, but all’s well that ends well and I can finally take the lovely fluffy towels down from the top of my wardrobe and dry myself in style! Hurrah!
I went to the gym today, and had to sit in the car park for 40 minutes whilst waiting for a space. I know the concept of driving to a gym smacks of all things American, so I really only have myself to blame. When I finally got in, I found myself instantly regretting my decision to go. A group of middle-aged men were shouting at each other across the changing room, in those forced Mockney voices that make insecure men feel oh so masculine. The conversation went something along the lines of; “why you wearing that top, mate? It’s gay. You look gay. You shouldn’t wear that top.” There was a brief blast of homophobic banter, before the rancid chatter moved onto joke telling, which culminated in some kind of discussion about lesbians and tins of tuna, which was so desperately tragic, I felt the need to escape before I’d put my shoes and socks on! I don’t know why these Neanderthals still exist in the world, but I don’t think anyone would miss them if they sunk to the bottom of the swimming pool.
I worked until 8pm tonight, and for the last hour had the television on in the background. Michael Portillo was doing yet another sodding documentary about train journeys. I don’t know why the BBC seems so keen to flog a dead format. The licence fee surely means they should be taking more risks. It’s not even like Portillo is particularly compelling as a presenter, speaking as he does, in that silly low voice and walking around in fuddy-duddy, “I used to wear a suit to work” clothes.
And speaking of celebrity-endorsed documentaries, which are the scourge of television programming at the moment, I just watched Martin Clunes doing a piece about manta rays. At the end of the programme, I was left with just one question...Why? Clunes doesn’t know anything about Manta Rays, and spent the entire documentary saying he was too scared to dive into the sea to look at them, so the girl with him, obviously the proper manta ray enthusiast, was forced to do it instead. It’s so ridiculous that no documentaries are being shown on telly without the suffix; “with Joanna Lumley” or whatever. “Gardens of the world - with Monty Don” “’cellos I have loved - with Yoyo Marr.” It’s a proper nonsense, and smacks of cynical production companies making a fast buck.
Twelfth Night, 1661, and, disappointingly, there were no parties for Pepys, who went with his wife to church, and heard a setting of a psalm which lasted a whole hour whilst a sexton went around with a collection plate. Surely this would have been a form of punishment close to wearing a hair shirt? And as if he hadn’t suffered enough already, Pepys went home to eat a broiled leg of mutton. Surely that can’t have been much fun?!
Fortunately, I received an email this morning from Jane, who sung in the Pepys Motet, asking if I’d received the slightly eccentric gift she’d sent to say thank you for the experience. And at that moment, the penny dropped! She must have thought I was so rude for not saying thank you, but all’s well that ends well and I can finally take the lovely fluffy towels down from the top of my wardrobe and dry myself in style! Hurrah!
I went to the gym today, and had to sit in the car park for 40 minutes whilst waiting for a space. I know the concept of driving to a gym smacks of all things American, so I really only have myself to blame. When I finally got in, I found myself instantly regretting my decision to go. A group of middle-aged men were shouting at each other across the changing room, in those forced Mockney voices that make insecure men feel oh so masculine. The conversation went something along the lines of; “why you wearing that top, mate? It’s gay. You look gay. You shouldn’t wear that top.” There was a brief blast of homophobic banter, before the rancid chatter moved onto joke telling, which culminated in some kind of discussion about lesbians and tins of tuna, which was so desperately tragic, I felt the need to escape before I’d put my shoes and socks on! I don’t know why these Neanderthals still exist in the world, but I don’t think anyone would miss them if they sunk to the bottom of the swimming pool.
I worked until 8pm tonight, and for the last hour had the television on in the background. Michael Portillo was doing yet another sodding documentary about train journeys. I don’t know why the BBC seems so keen to flog a dead format. The licence fee surely means they should be taking more risks. It’s not even like Portillo is particularly compelling as a presenter, speaking as he does, in that silly low voice and walking around in fuddy-duddy, “I used to wear a suit to work” clothes.
And speaking of celebrity-endorsed documentaries, which are the scourge of television programming at the moment, I just watched Martin Clunes doing a piece about manta rays. At the end of the programme, I was left with just one question...Why? Clunes doesn’t know anything about Manta Rays, and spent the entire documentary saying he was too scared to dive into the sea to look at them, so the girl with him, obviously the proper manta ray enthusiast, was forced to do it instead. It’s so ridiculous that no documentaries are being shown on telly without the suffix; “with Joanna Lumley” or whatever. “Gardens of the world - with Monty Don” “’cellos I have loved - with Yoyo Marr.” It’s a proper nonsense, and smacks of cynical production companies making a fast buck.
Twelfth Night, 1661, and, disappointingly, there were no parties for Pepys, who went with his wife to church, and heard a setting of a psalm which lasted a whole hour whilst a sexton went around with a collection plate. Surely this would have been a form of punishment close to wearing a hair shirt? And as if he hadn’t suffered enough already, Pepys went home to eat a broiled leg of mutton. Surely that can’t have been much fun?!
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
A womb-like corner
I’ve just returned from a particularly long walk with Fiona. We went up to Muswell Hill and then back to Highgate via Crouch End. Just as well we returned when we did, however, as I think I’m coming down with the Norovirus which is doing the rounds in London. My tummy feels strange to say the least. It's also started raining, which is wildly depressing. I woke up this morning and the sky was cornflower blue. I was keeping my fingers crossed that the morose weather we've had of late was on the turn.
It’s Twelfth Night tomorrow, which means we have to take down all our Christmas decorations. Nathan is putting all sorts of beautiful shiny things into terribly dull cardboard boxes. Another year done and dusted.
I spent the morning writing in Cafe Nero, but was forced away by the rancid cooking smells, which have now become quite an obsession. We had more mushrooms for lunch but Fiona ate soup because blue cheese makes her ill. In the afternoon, I managed to find a rather lovely womb-like corner in the cafe at Jackson’s Lane, and sat there writing very contentedly. I must find something other than tea to drink whilst I'm writing. I got the proper shakes today, which I'm assuming is to do with the caffeine rather than the norovirus.
The lyrics were sent out for approval today, so fingers crossed they’re loved – or at least endured - by all.
Saturday 5th January was a relatively quiet day for Pepys. He was visited at the Navy Office in the morning by a string of people who were looking to do business, which generally meant they wanted him to use his influence to do them favours. Pepys, however, lapped up every aspect of his new-found importance. He spent the afternoon with Lady Jemima, visiting St Paul’s churchyard on his way home to buy himself a copy of Ogilby’s Aesop’s Fables.
It’s Twelfth Night tomorrow, which means we have to take down all our Christmas decorations. Nathan is putting all sorts of beautiful shiny things into terribly dull cardboard boxes. Another year done and dusted.
I spent the morning writing in Cafe Nero, but was forced away by the rancid cooking smells, which have now become quite an obsession. We had more mushrooms for lunch but Fiona ate soup because blue cheese makes her ill. In the afternoon, I managed to find a rather lovely womb-like corner in the cafe at Jackson’s Lane, and sat there writing very contentedly. I must find something other than tea to drink whilst I'm writing. I got the proper shakes today, which I'm assuming is to do with the caffeine rather than the norovirus.
The lyrics were sent out for approval today, so fingers crossed they’re loved – or at least endured - by all.
Saturday 5th January was a relatively quiet day for Pepys. He was visited at the Navy Office in the morning by a string of people who were looking to do business, which generally meant they wanted him to use his influence to do them favours. Pepys, however, lapped up every aspect of his new-found importance. He spent the afternoon with Lady Jemima, visiting St Paul’s churchyard on his way home to buy himself a copy of Ogilby’s Aesop’s Fables.
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
Take ME out of the WE
Another long day. I was in Cafe Nero by 9.30am this morning, and have now finished the first draft of Metro The Musical. The one problem with Nero is that it smells. I come home every day absolutely stinking of chip fat, which makes me feel extremely uncomfortable and embarrassed. It’s particularly odd, as Nero is not exactly renowned for selling chips. I can only assume the rancid smell is due to those weird toasted sandwiches that they sell in there, which are obviously so loaded with fat, they’d be banned by the WHO if they weren’t masquerading as something innocent! The prices have all gone up, as well. No doubt, like everyone else, Costa will be using the VAT rise as an excuse. I’m not sure what to make of any of this business. I passionately hate the concept that we’re all paying back a debt. I didn't benefit in the golden years when everyone was borrowing and spending like mad. I've never owned a house. I’ve never borrowed money, never been in debt and never bought anything on a credit card! So take the me out of that we, please, Mr Osbourne. And whilst we're talking politics, doesn’t Ed Milliband have a silly voice?! He needs to have his adenoids removed!
I came home for a late lunch. We had some glorious mushrooms in a white wine and stilton sauce on toasted beigels. A little piece of heaven momentarily arrived in our sitting room, which was only destroyed when we turned the television on. Day time television becomes utterly inane when you’re working. When you’re not it’s the elixir of life!
Nathan left for his show at about 6pm and I seem to have sat in the same place on the sofa ever since. I missed the laundrette and am trying to dry all my clothes on various radiators around the house. I don't feel guilty for not doing very much tonight although I realised at one point that I’d been half-watching the world darts championship, which surely has to be an all-time low.
Pepys took his mate Henry Moore to see The Scornful Lady. It was a relief to Pepys that it was “acted very well” for it was the first time Moore had ever been to the theatre. Bizarre.
My first trip to the theatre was to see a production of Jesus Christ Superstar at the Northampton Royal Theatre. I was 7 years old. As Jesus was hanging on the cross, and the cast were emoting, a special needs person jumped up from the audience, stood on the stage and started applauding wildly. He then dropped his trousers and was promptly removed by an embarrassed helper. I couldn't tell you how well the show was performed, but the lunatic was excellent!
I came home for a late lunch. We had some glorious mushrooms in a white wine and stilton sauce on toasted beigels. A little piece of heaven momentarily arrived in our sitting room, which was only destroyed when we turned the television on. Day time television becomes utterly inane when you’re working. When you’re not it’s the elixir of life!
Nathan left for his show at about 6pm and I seem to have sat in the same place on the sofa ever since. I missed the laundrette and am trying to dry all my clothes on various radiators around the house. I don't feel guilty for not doing very much tonight although I realised at one point that I’d been half-watching the world darts championship, which surely has to be an all-time low.
Pepys took his mate Henry Moore to see The Scornful Lady. It was a relief to Pepys that it was “acted very well” for it was the first time Moore had ever been to the theatre. Bizarre.
My first trip to the theatre was to see a production of Jesus Christ Superstar at the Northampton Royal Theatre. I was 7 years old. As Jesus was hanging on the cross, and the cast were emoting, a special needs person jumped up from the audience, stood on the stage and started applauding wildly. He then dropped his trousers and was promptly removed by an embarrassed helper. I couldn't tell you how well the show was performed, but the lunatic was excellent!
Monday, 3 January 2011
Pretty witty
It’s fairly amazing how full and rich a day can seem when you get up early and immediately leave the house. This morning I set my alarm for 8.30am and was in Shoreditch by 10. The plan was to do some writing in a cafe before going to my Goddaughter’s second birthday party. Unfortunately, on a Bank Holiday, Shoreditch is like a ghost town. Everything was closed and the entire area was completely empty but for a few slightly over-dressed people who I assume were still partying from the night before. Shoreditch is a silly area of town at the best of times. Old Street heaves with people who are too cool for school. On a normal day, you’re likely to see any number of ridiculous asymmetrical hair-dos perched on top of retro leather jackets and unfeasibly skinny jeans.
I was completely unable to find a cafe, so instead of working, I went straight to Philippa’s house and helped to prepare for the party. It was so much fun. Philippa’s mother and parents-in-law were there, and then Gaby and finally, Nick, Philippa’s father arrived. We helped to tidy the house, and cooked cup cakes. Deia was delightful, and hugely excited at the prospect of being two. I gave her a stuffed rabbit, which she immediately christened “The bouncing song rabbit”, which felt almost too brilliantly surreal for comment! Philippa’s mother-in-law had created the most astonishing cake in the shape of Noah’s Arc, complete with the most brilliant selection of animals crafted from marzipan.
I headed back to Highgate Village and did 4 hours’ work on the Metro Musical, which feels like it’s finally coming together. I even had a miniature rush of excitement at one point! The cafe was filled to the rafters today and I had to share a table with two teenaged girls, who seemed to want to do nothing but hug one another. When I asked if I could sit with them, I could tell their hearts were sinking. I've been wearing pyjama trousers all day today, so assume they merely regarded me as some kind of eccentric old man who just wanted their company.
Nathan arrived to say hello just as the cafe was closing and we immediately had to drive back to Philippa’s, because I realised I’d left my camera there. We had a cup of tea with the stragglers and ate some of the leftover food from the party; mostly olives, pieces of cheese and low-sugar biscuits, which, for the record, are utterly repulsive.
Thursday 3rd January 1661, and Pepys went to the theatre to watch the “Beggar’s Bush” being performed. He wrote that it was “very well done” but more importantly, noted that it was the first time he’d ever seen women actresses on a stage. What an intriguing milestone! I’m told that the first female professional actress was actually Mrs Coleman, who acted Ianthe in Davenant’s Siege of Rhodes in 1656 – so these were incredibly early days in this respect, particularly if we take into account that theatre itself had been banned until the previous year. Within a few years, however, bawdy actresses were all the rage and there would be countless professional female performers in London, including Pepys’ lover, Mrs Knipp, and "pretty witty" Nell Gwyn.
I was completely unable to find a cafe, so instead of working, I went straight to Philippa’s house and helped to prepare for the party. It was so much fun. Philippa’s mother and parents-in-law were there, and then Gaby and finally, Nick, Philippa’s father arrived. We helped to tidy the house, and cooked cup cakes. Deia was delightful, and hugely excited at the prospect of being two. I gave her a stuffed rabbit, which she immediately christened “The bouncing song rabbit”, which felt almost too brilliantly surreal for comment! Philippa’s mother-in-law had created the most astonishing cake in the shape of Noah’s Arc, complete with the most brilliant selection of animals crafted from marzipan.
Deia and her Oma
I headed back to Highgate Village and did 4 hours’ work on the Metro Musical, which feels like it’s finally coming together. I even had a miniature rush of excitement at one point! The cafe was filled to the rafters today and I had to share a table with two teenaged girls, who seemed to want to do nothing but hug one another. When I asked if I could sit with them, I could tell their hearts were sinking. I've been wearing pyjama trousers all day today, so assume they merely regarded me as some kind of eccentric old man who just wanted their company.
Nathan arrived to say hello just as the cafe was closing and we immediately had to drive back to Philippa’s, because I realised I’d left my camera there. We had a cup of tea with the stragglers and ate some of the leftover food from the party; mostly olives, pieces of cheese and low-sugar biscuits, which, for the record, are utterly repulsive.
Thursday 3rd January 1661, and Pepys went to the theatre to watch the “Beggar’s Bush” being performed. He wrote that it was “very well done” but more importantly, noted that it was the first time he’d ever seen women actresses on a stage. What an intriguing milestone! I’m told that the first female professional actress was actually Mrs Coleman, who acted Ianthe in Davenant’s Siege of Rhodes in 1656 – so these were incredibly early days in this respect, particularly if we take into account that theatre itself had been banned until the previous year. Within a few years, however, bawdy actresses were all the rage and there would be countless professional female performers in London, including Pepys’ lover, Mrs Knipp, and "pretty witty" Nell Gwyn.
Sunday, 2 January 2011
The Charlie Says cat
Sunday January 2nd, and to prove just how conscientious I am, I did 5 hours’ work on the Metro musical today. I had set my alarm for 9am, but for some inexplicable reason it didn’t go off. A shame really, because the extra time I had in bed allowed me to dream the most dreadful dream about nuclear war with Pakistan. It was very much an “every man for himself” situation. I remember telling Philippa and her Mum that if we lost touch because the world was about to enter a nuclear winter, we’d all meet, if we could, on August the eighth at the top of Parliament Hill. Brother Edward was predicting, in his wisdom, that Pakistan were most likely to fire the missiles that evening, and Nathan and I discussed the possibility of driving North out of London and seeing where we could get to. It was all a bit too realistic for my liking. I haven’t had such a lucid dream for years.
Nathan and I spent a good half hour trying to work out why my i-phone alarm hadn’t gone off and ended up drawing a complete blank. We later discovered, via the news, that this was a world-wide phenomenon and that people in Australia even, had been late for work because their i-phone alarms hadn’t gone off. Apparently it’s a glitch, and by tomorrow all phones will be back to working order. Quite how they can be so sure, I've no idea. Some wise-guy emailed the news station to suggest that if people went to the shops and brought a £10 alarm clock, none of this would have happened, to which I respond, “why bother to buy an alarm if your 'phone will do the job?” In my experience, alarm clocks are just as likely to go wrong! Silly Luddite.
The cafe was hugely busy today with people who'd obviously been walking on the Heath. There was a veritable cavalcade of wellies and wax jackets; not that the good folk of Highgate need much of an excuse to dust off the country casuals!
The woman sitting opposite me had had THE most dreadful plastic surgery. To quote Frankie Boyle, she looked like a haunted shoe. I don’t know what possesses women to do it to themselves. Her lips looked like they’d been stung by a thousand bees and her eyes looked like pieces of melted plastic. I wondered how sophisticated and beautiful she might have looked had she allowed nature to take its course, but worry that this kind of surgery is becoming so prevalent that its results are becoming acceptable, rather than freaky. Of course, the moment she decided to open her mouth, she revealed everything I needed to know about her. It was like listening to the “Charlie Says” cat. She was obviously some kind of Eastern European with a husband with more money than sense. I'm sure he thinks she looks stunning, when he's not buying diamonds for his 30 year-old secretary, that is.
Wednesday 2nd January 1661, and Pepys spent the morning with Sandwich, who was off to Portsmouth with the Queen Mother, who was heading to France. Pepys returned home to find his sister, Pall, had arrived, and in a display of absolute callousness, refused to allow her to sit down at the table with him “which I do at first that she may not expect it hereafter from me.” We must remember, of course, that she was coming to live with Pepys, not as a sister, but as a servant. Rules is rules.
Nathan and I spent a good half hour trying to work out why my i-phone alarm hadn’t gone off and ended up drawing a complete blank. We later discovered, via the news, that this was a world-wide phenomenon and that people in Australia even, had been late for work because their i-phone alarms hadn’t gone off. Apparently it’s a glitch, and by tomorrow all phones will be back to working order. Quite how they can be so sure, I've no idea. Some wise-guy emailed the news station to suggest that if people went to the shops and brought a £10 alarm clock, none of this would have happened, to which I respond, “why bother to buy an alarm if your 'phone will do the job?” In my experience, alarm clocks are just as likely to go wrong! Silly Luddite.
The cafe was hugely busy today with people who'd obviously been walking on the Heath. There was a veritable cavalcade of wellies and wax jackets; not that the good folk of Highgate need much of an excuse to dust off the country casuals!
The woman sitting opposite me had had THE most dreadful plastic surgery. To quote Frankie Boyle, she looked like a haunted shoe. I don’t know what possesses women to do it to themselves. Her lips looked like they’d been stung by a thousand bees and her eyes looked like pieces of melted plastic. I wondered how sophisticated and beautiful she might have looked had she allowed nature to take its course, but worry that this kind of surgery is becoming so prevalent that its results are becoming acceptable, rather than freaky. Of course, the moment she decided to open her mouth, she revealed everything I needed to know about her. It was like listening to the “Charlie Says” cat. She was obviously some kind of Eastern European with a husband with more money than sense. I'm sure he thinks she looks stunning, when he's not buying diamonds for his 30 year-old secretary, that is.
Wednesday 2nd January 1661, and Pepys spent the morning with Sandwich, who was off to Portsmouth with the Queen Mother, who was heading to France. Pepys returned home to find his sister, Pall, had arrived, and in a display of absolute callousness, refused to allow her to sit down at the table with him “which I do at first that she may not expect it hereafter from me.” We must remember, of course, that she was coming to live with Pepys, not as a sister, but as a servant. Rules is rules.
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Can anyone stop the wheel from turning?
Last night’s party was a riot and Nathan got incredibly drunk. I couldn’t believe how seriously people took the P party theme. There were pirates, Phantoms, Pocahonti, and a plethora of princesses, but top marks HAVE to go to the prophylactic dressed from head to toe in rubber! There was a quiz. There was great food, and there was manic dancing in the kitchen.
I turned in at about 3am. Unfortunately, as I lay down on the bed, it collapsed underneath my weight and I ended up in a crumpled heap in the middle of a pile of splintered wooden slats and a torn douvet. The night was spent on a mattress on the floor, feeling slightly embarrassed and guilty that I’d ruined Lisa and Mark’s spare bed.
We woke up at midday, and by the time we’d got up, the entire house had been cleaned from tip to toe and looked exactly as it had done before 50 Spaldwick residents rushed through it like migrating wildebeest. The magic of people who have children is that they have to get up very early, though I genuinely felt guilty for not doing any tidying up.
We decided to go for lunch - in Brampton of all places - which Pepys fans will recognise as the location of the country seat of the Pepys clan. Purely by chance we passed the house itself, and I sincerely wish I’d been able to stop and have a bit of a gawk.
We ate at a watermill in the village, which was situated in the middle of a campsite on the water meadows. It was a hugely depressing sight to see a bunch of caravans and tents occupied by holiday-makers. Who would go to a campsite on the outskirts of Huntingdon to bring in the New Year? All sorts of sad possibilities entered my mind.
On our way out of the building, we stopped to admire the static water wheel, which we’d heard was in the process of being renovated. Mark leant over the railings, gave it a little push, and it ground very slowly into activity, which we all thought was incredibly exciting. As we walked away, however, a flood of staff came rushing out of the restaurant and were trying to stop the wheel from turning. By the time we passed them again, there were all sorts of people standing around holding buckets and scratching their heads, worriedly. I sincerely hope we haven’t done something really silly...
January 1st 1661, and Pepys summed up his situation and that of the State in an almost direct mirror of this very first entry.
“At the end of the last and the beginning of this year, I do live in one of the houses belonging to the Navy Office, as one of the principal officers, and have done now about half a year. After much trouble with workmen I am now almost settled; my family being, myself, my wife, Jane, Will. Hewer, and Wayneman,1 my girle’s brother. Myself in constant good health, and in a most handsome and thriving condition. Blessed be Almighty God for it. I am now taking of my sister to come and live with me.”
He went on to point out that the King was settled and loved by all, and that the King's sister had recently died, and that the country was in mourning for her. He was now worth 300l.
January 1st was obviously the date on which people celebrated the New Year. Pepys spent much of the day in the company of his extended family. There was a lazy breakfast at his house followed by lunch at his cousin, Thomas', which was attended, by amongst others, Pepys’ cousin Anthony, who had lost a child that morning, "yet he was so civil to come, and was pretty merry" - an indication of how regularly children died in infancy. 50% of children born in the 17th Century were not expected to live into their adult lives.
I turned in at about 3am. Unfortunately, as I lay down on the bed, it collapsed underneath my weight and I ended up in a crumpled heap in the middle of a pile of splintered wooden slats and a torn douvet. The night was spent on a mattress on the floor, feeling slightly embarrassed and guilty that I’d ruined Lisa and Mark’s spare bed.
We woke up at midday, and by the time we’d got up, the entire house had been cleaned from tip to toe and looked exactly as it had done before 50 Spaldwick residents rushed through it like migrating wildebeest. The magic of people who have children is that they have to get up very early, though I genuinely felt guilty for not doing any tidying up.
We decided to go for lunch - in Brampton of all places - which Pepys fans will recognise as the location of the country seat of the Pepys clan. Purely by chance we passed the house itself, and I sincerely wish I’d been able to stop and have a bit of a gawk.
We ate at a watermill in the village, which was situated in the middle of a campsite on the water meadows. It was a hugely depressing sight to see a bunch of caravans and tents occupied by holiday-makers. Who would go to a campsite on the outskirts of Huntingdon to bring in the New Year? All sorts of sad possibilities entered my mind.
On our way out of the building, we stopped to admire the static water wheel, which we’d heard was in the process of being renovated. Mark leant over the railings, gave it a little push, and it ground very slowly into activity, which we all thought was incredibly exciting. As we walked away, however, a flood of staff came rushing out of the restaurant and were trying to stop the wheel from turning. By the time we passed them again, there were all sorts of people standing around holding buckets and scratching their heads, worriedly. I sincerely hope we haven’t done something really silly...
January 1st 1661, and Pepys summed up his situation and that of the State in an almost direct mirror of this very first entry.
“At the end of the last and the beginning of this year, I do live in one of the houses belonging to the Navy Office, as one of the principal officers, and have done now about half a year. After much trouble with workmen I am now almost settled; my family being, myself, my wife, Jane, Will. Hewer, and Wayneman,1 my girle’s brother. Myself in constant good health, and in a most handsome and thriving condition. Blessed be Almighty God for it. I am now taking of my sister to come and live with me.”
He went on to point out that the King was settled and loved by all, and that the King's sister had recently died, and that the country was in mourning for her. He was now worth 300l.
January 1st was obviously the date on which people celebrated the New Year. Pepys spent much of the day in the company of his extended family. There was a lazy breakfast at his house followed by lunch at his cousin, Thomas', which was attended, by amongst others, Pepys’ cousin Anthony, who had lost a child that morning, "yet he was so civil to come, and was pretty merry" - an indication of how regularly children died in infancy. 50% of children born in the 17th Century were not expected to live into their adult lives.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
