Ah! Columbia Road on a misty, murky Autumnal evening. There's something highly atmospheric about the East End of London on evenings like this. I wasn't at all surprised to find a film crew shooting a period drama when I emerged from the end of Philippa's street earlier. I've filmed on Columbia Road. It feels timeless.
I've had a lovely day. It was a deliberate attempt at something resembling a weekend, because I worked so hard over the last couple of days.
The day started with a rehearsal in Crouch End for my concert on the 27th. It didn't feel like work. We were with the wonderful actress, Sara Kestelman. She's joining Nathan on stage to sing a song I wrote called The Morning Always Comes. The piece is really about moving on in life, but has very sad connotations for us all, being one of the songs chosen for the memorial concert of our good friend, Kevin. Sara and Nathan sang it on that occasion as well, and as they remembered their way through the song, I very much felt the ghost of Kev was with us. He always used to do impressions of Sara's unfeasibly low voice singing the song, and I heard him again this morning.
The rest of the day was spent with Philippa, Deia, Gob and Kate. God-daughter, Deia, was in a singular mood, and she tied me to door handles on two occasions before pointing at me and mockingly saying "silly Uncle Benjy!" She's also started doing impressions of a local man who can only say "uh-uh."
It was Kate's birthday last week, and Philippa had made an enormous three-tiered cake out of beetroot. I was slightly confused as to why it wasn't bright red, but it tasted very good.
350 years ago, Pepys was visited by a musician called Roger Hill, who'd been engaged to give him lessons on the theorbo. Sadly, Pepys wasn't at all impressed by either his singing or his playing, so found an excuse to send him on his way.
He received a letter from his patron, Lord Sandwich, who was still in Lisbon making arrangements for the future queen of England's journey to London. He wrote about the Portuguese court, and Pepys was fascinated to read of a bull fight, or Juego de Toro, which Sandwich had been invited to attend.
Monday, 7 November 2011
Sunday, 6 November 2011
In her veil of tears she sees no rainbow...
We're in Tooting Bec. God knows what this place is other than a nasty hole filled to the brim with all sorts of undesirables and inadequates!
We've been doing another alto sectional for my concert on the 27th November. We were rehearsing two great singers who aren't music readers, so they sailed through the music I wrote for the Lincolnshire choir, which is now called Four Colours, and then started to slow down when it came to the behemoth which is known only as Busker III. It's a sort of Swingle-Singers-meets-Bach number, which was written and recorded as part of thr Busker Symphony. Heaven knows what possessed me to write something quite so complicated, but it's one of those pieces which will be an absolute showstopper if we can nail it.
I am still on a high from last night, although I woke up this morning in floods of tears! It's a rare phenomenon, but from time to time, I dream of something so sad and empty that I wake up with tears steaming down my face. Usually I've been crying in the dream. This morning was no different. I don't actually know why I felt so sad in the dream, but my friend Lisa was cradling me as I wept; ironic, really, after the dreadful year she's been having. I woke up at 8.40am, wondering if anything was wrong with the world, but ten hours later, I'm consoling myself with the hope that I would have heard if there was a problem with one of my loved ones.
Pepys started drinking wine at breakfast time 350 years ago, and was drunk as a skunk by mid day. He was invited out for lunch by his friend Luellin, and they ate more marrowbones and neat tongues and other substances, no doubt, too minging to mention.
We've been doing another alto sectional for my concert on the 27th November. We were rehearsing two great singers who aren't music readers, so they sailed through the music I wrote for the Lincolnshire choir, which is now called Four Colours, and then started to slow down when it came to the behemoth which is known only as Busker III. It's a sort of Swingle-Singers-meets-Bach number, which was written and recorded as part of thr Busker Symphony. Heaven knows what possessed me to write something quite so complicated, but it's one of those pieces which will be an absolute showstopper if we can nail it.
I am still on a high from last night, although I woke up this morning in floods of tears! It's a rare phenomenon, but from time to time, I dream of something so sad and empty that I wake up with tears steaming down my face. Usually I've been crying in the dream. This morning was no different. I don't actually know why I felt so sad in the dream, but my friend Lisa was cradling me as I wept; ironic, really, after the dreadful year she's been having. I woke up at 8.40am, wondering if anything was wrong with the world, but ten hours later, I'm consoling myself with the hope that I would have heard if there was a problem with one of my loved ones.
Pepys started drinking wine at breakfast time 350 years ago, and was drunk as a skunk by mid day. He was invited out for lunch by his friend Luellin, and they ate more marrowbones and neat tongues and other substances, no doubt, too minging to mention.
Saturday, 5 November 2011
My orders are to sit here and watch...
Well, it's not often you get to conduct a sell-out gig at the Royal Festival Hall, share a stage with Jimmy Page and Joanna Newson, and become the living ghost of the late great David Bedford. I have done all three tonight and I am buzzing!
One of the highlights of my life will undoubtedly be conducting Me and My Woman this evening. They'd sold seats in the "choir" area, which is behind the stage itself, and because I was facing the musicians upstage, I had my own private audience of revellers who were conducting the music with me!
Everything went incredibly smoothly, but for a terrible moment in the song Commune, where Roy's fingers started playing very bizarre notes. At the end of the song, he waved to me, and said "Can we do the last verse again?" "Of course," I said. "Where shall we go from?" Asked Roy. "The Black Cap?" I suggested, laughing, because we'd discussed in rehearsals that it was not just a beautiful bird, but also an infamous gay pub in Camden. So we did the final verse again, and everything was perfect.
Brava Fiona for doing such extraordinary arrangements, for choosing such inspiring players and for being 37 years old today! They're lighting fireworks across London in your honour... At least I THINK that's why they're lighting fireworks...
Pepys spent much of the day drinking in pubs 350 years ago. They were already celebrating November 5th by 1661. At one stage, he reports that he was "seeing the boys in the street flying their crackers." Good old Pepys!
One of the highlights of my life will undoubtedly be conducting Me and My Woman this evening. They'd sold seats in the "choir" area, which is behind the stage itself, and because I was facing the musicians upstage, I had my own private audience of revellers who were conducting the music with me!
Everything went incredibly smoothly, but for a terrible moment in the song Commune, where Roy's fingers started playing very bizarre notes. At the end of the song, he waved to me, and said "Can we do the last verse again?" "Of course," I said. "Where shall we go from?" Asked Roy. "The Black Cap?" I suggested, laughing, because we'd discussed in rehearsals that it was not just a beautiful bird, but also an infamous gay pub in Camden. So we did the final verse again, and everything was perfect.
Brava Fiona for doing such extraordinary arrangements, for choosing such inspiring players and for being 37 years old today! They're lighting fireworks across London in your honour... At least I THINK that's why they're lighting fireworks...
Pepys spent much of the day drinking in pubs 350 years ago. They were already celebrating November 5th by 1661. At one stage, he reports that he was "seeing the boys in the street flying their crackers." Good old Pepys!
Friday, 4 November 2011
Everybody smiles
I am utterly exhausted! My feet have literally not touched the ground since I woke up at 9am. That's a lie. Of course they've touched the ground. They've done nothing but pound the gound. What I mean to say is that I haven't yet sat down... Apart from in front of a piano, which therefore means I have sat down today. It's just my brain hasn't stopped. Well, a brain never stops, until you die in any case, but you get the general impression of a man who is so tired he's become slightly manic. I’ve been formatting scores, sending letters, taking phone calls, ignoring phonecalls. My rehearsals started at 1pm, and went through til 10. Individuals first, and then the first rehearsal with all of the choir – well, half of them, because some were ill, others were away on holiday. I haven’t had lunch, or an evening meal. I’ve had 50 cups of tea, 3 slices of toast and 4 biscuits. I am hoarse. I’m buzzing and probably won’t sleep tonight.
I guess the rehearsal today made it all seem very real. There were eight of us – two on each part – and at times I had a glorious sense of what this group of people could become. We’ll need a few gigs to get ourselves sorted and for the sound to blend, but the singers are so utterly versatile. I can ask the women to belt, and they open up their lungs like proper gospel singers, and then I can ask for the sound to be go much more church-like and mellow, and they all oblige. Sure, it’s rough around the edges, and in a 3 hour rehearsal, we only made our way through about half of the material, but I am excited. There’s a seed of something very special in the offing.
I can’t write too much else. I’ll fall over.
350 years ago, and Pepys ate a chine of beef and a dish of marrowbones. What was he? A dog?
I guess the rehearsal today made it all seem very real. There were eight of us – two on each part – and at times I had a glorious sense of what this group of people could become. We’ll need a few gigs to get ourselves sorted and for the sound to blend, but the singers are so utterly versatile. I can ask the women to belt, and they open up their lungs like proper gospel singers, and then I can ask for the sound to be go much more church-like and mellow, and they all oblige. Sure, it’s rough around the edges, and in a 3 hour rehearsal, we only made our way through about half of the material, but I am excited. There’s a seed of something very special in the offing.
I can’t write too much else. I’ll fall over.
350 years ago, and Pepys ate a chine of beef and a dish of marrowbones. What was he? A dog?
Thursday, 3 November 2011
Standing in the rain
I spent the morning formatting music for my concert on the 27th, and then dashed off to the Royal Festival Hall for two rehearsal sessions with Roy Harper and the guys. I suppose what I’m appreciating most about this particular job is that I can focus on conducting Roy’s music whilst making sure that all the players are sounding as good as they can. I spend so much of the rest of my time carrying enormous weights on my shoulders. I’ll enter a space as composer, a director, a conductor, a producer, a peace-keeper, a note-basher and tea-maker, and it can be an excessively draining experience! There’s often a sense that if I leave the room, the cogs will immediately stop turning, and everyone will enter a state of anarchy until I return!
I’m not saying that my role in this particular gig is unimportant – far from it - but I rather like the fact that the success of the end product doesn’t largely hinge on me. There are many more important people, doing many more important things; and more importantly, we all have a good sense of how our skills fit into the over-all puzzle. I guess this is how most people feel when they walk into work. I often have to take a deep breath before entering a rehearsal room!
That said, today's rehearsals were tiring, but they were also great fun. The atmosphere is upbeat. Occasionally a childish remark, or a double entendre will send everyone into fits of giggles for a few minutes, before we knuckle down to work again. We share food. We share jokes. I encourage Roy to share his extraordinary anecdotes. No one feels rushed. No one feels pressured. This is exactly as everything should be and a great deal of thanks have to go to Fiona for setting things up with such a sense of OCD!
Funny story. The 'cellist in our ensemble is a relatively new mum, and just before she started to play, she felt something in her bra. She rooted around for a bit, and was utterly horrified to discover that the discomfort was being caused by a piece of ham! Her son's lunch, apparently!
I didn’t realise how exhausted I was until I walked from the South Bank to Goodge Street. It struck me that I’d been in a room with no natural light for the best part of 7 hours, so it felt important to walk for a while, whilst filling my lungs with gritty smog and the smell of rain. It had obviously properly pissed it down whilst we were rehearsing. I walked up through Soho to avoid the busy streets, and then into Fitzrovia. Does anyone still call the area around Charlotte Street Fitzrovia? Every time I’m in that area, I remember that all the new Romantics; Boy George, Philip Sallon et al, lived in a row of squats close to Goodge Street in the early 1980s. The houses in that part of town are now worth eye-watering sums of money, and yet, back then, you could live in them for nothing, sign on, do a few jobs on the side, walk everywhere, and live like bohemian kings. Sometimes I think it’s no wonder that such a huge amount of creativity emerged in that era. It was somehow still possible to “have a bash” at creativity without the realities of the outside world crushing your spirit.
I look back to those days with a slight feeling of envy, but then realise that ¾ of them either died of HIV related illnesses or drugs overdoses, so feel rather grateful to have been born a decade too late!
I returned home to be told by Nathan that I have panda eyes. Poor me. Pee.
350 years ago, Pepys took “physic,” which meant he was feeling poorly and had decided to stay at home all day. It was a Sunday, so he was basically merely skiving church. He spent the afternoon reading books, and, oddly, composing music, writing that he "did try to make a song in the praise of a liberal genius (as I take my own to be) to all studies and pleasures." I thought the default in those days was to write music in praise of God, rather than liberal genius. Still, it's always good to have a nice high opinion of yourself...
I’m not saying that my role in this particular gig is unimportant – far from it - but I rather like the fact that the success of the end product doesn’t largely hinge on me. There are many more important people, doing many more important things; and more importantly, we all have a good sense of how our skills fit into the over-all puzzle. I guess this is how most people feel when they walk into work. I often have to take a deep breath before entering a rehearsal room!
That said, today's rehearsals were tiring, but they were also great fun. The atmosphere is upbeat. Occasionally a childish remark, or a double entendre will send everyone into fits of giggles for a few minutes, before we knuckle down to work again. We share food. We share jokes. I encourage Roy to share his extraordinary anecdotes. No one feels rushed. No one feels pressured. This is exactly as everything should be and a great deal of thanks have to go to Fiona for setting things up with such a sense of OCD!
Funny story. The 'cellist in our ensemble is a relatively new mum, and just before she started to play, she felt something in her bra. She rooted around for a bit, and was utterly horrified to discover that the discomfort was being caused by a piece of ham! Her son's lunch, apparently!
I didn’t realise how exhausted I was until I walked from the South Bank to Goodge Street. It struck me that I’d been in a room with no natural light for the best part of 7 hours, so it felt important to walk for a while, whilst filling my lungs with gritty smog and the smell of rain. It had obviously properly pissed it down whilst we were rehearsing. I walked up through Soho to avoid the busy streets, and then into Fitzrovia. Does anyone still call the area around Charlotte Street Fitzrovia? Every time I’m in that area, I remember that all the new Romantics; Boy George, Philip Sallon et al, lived in a row of squats close to Goodge Street in the early 1980s. The houses in that part of town are now worth eye-watering sums of money, and yet, back then, you could live in them for nothing, sign on, do a few jobs on the side, walk everywhere, and live like bohemian kings. Sometimes I think it’s no wonder that such a huge amount of creativity emerged in that era. It was somehow still possible to “have a bash” at creativity without the realities of the outside world crushing your spirit.
I look back to those days with a slight feeling of envy, but then realise that ¾ of them either died of HIV related illnesses or drugs overdoses, so feel rather grateful to have been born a decade too late!
I returned home to be told by Nathan that I have panda eyes. Poor me. Pee.
350 years ago, Pepys took “physic,” which meant he was feeling poorly and had decided to stay at home all day. It was a Sunday, so he was basically merely skiving church. He spent the afternoon reading books, and, oddly, composing music, writing that he "did try to make a song in the praise of a liberal genius (as I take my own to be) to all studies and pleasures." I thought the default in those days was to write music in praise of God, rather than liberal genius. Still, it's always good to have a nice high opinion of yourself...
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
I'm so tired I wanna go home
I’m utterly exhausted. I have a cold and my day seems to have lasted forever. It didn’t help that I couldn’t sleep a wink last night. I was awake until at least 4am with hundreds of little thoughts darting around my head like a game of space invaders. I got out of bed. Put the telly on. Got back into bed. Got out of bed again. Bashed my knee against a piano stool. Trod on something hard and plastic. I ended up in the kitchen going through all the drawers to find some kind of sleeping tablet. I don’t like pills and potions, but I like insomnia even less.
My morning started in the cafe. I sat with a pot of tea, a pile of tissues, and my scores for the Roy Harper gig, which I studied like an A-level student. As I left the cafe, the owner called me over and wrote “timbre” on a piece of paper. He said he’d been arguing about the word's pronunciation and meaning all morning and thought I was the man to provide the answers. He was right, and I bored him silly with my response.
The rehearsal with Roy happened in the Blue Room at the Royal Festival Hall. It sounds rather fancy, but it's really just an airless room with no windows and a table with a coffee pot on it. The RFH (as I like to call it) is a venue that most classical musicians have played in. I've never performed there, which is hardly surprising as I'm not a performer. I did have a dressing room there once when I was helping ballet dancers to act (an impossible task), but I couldn’t find the stage door for toffee. I kept rushing up to people who looked like staff members, and asking where it was, but they all said they didn’t think there was one. It was only when one person said; “oh you mean the artistes entrance” that I understood the error of my ways. A bit of a fancy-schmanzy name for a stage door, if you ask me...
We had a very good session. Fiona has booked some remarkable players. I was hugely impressed by the standard of their musicianship, particularly as they’re having to play in some properly bizarre keys with more flats and sharps than I think it's healthy for a string player to deal with. Roy was incredible. I think we all felt rather privileged to be in his company.
I returned home to find 4 basses and a tenor sitting in my bedroom ready for a choir sectional/ note-bashing session. We certainly have a large amount of music to learn – and some of it is not at all easy... But the rehearsal went well, despite the fact that I could barely talk by the end of it. There’s a great amount of good will within the choir, and people seem particularly excited to be singing the requiem. It seems to bring out the best in them, which is a particularly lovely feeling for a composer.
So that’s about all from me. If I don’t stop working now, I’ll end up a quivering wreck. My glands feel like apples on my neck!
Pepys’ boy servant, the wonderfully named Wayneman, got himself into a rather peculiar situation on this date 350 years ago. It would seem that he’d found some gunpowder, stuck it in his pocket, forgotten about it, lit a match, and set off a mini explosion! Pepys went to see what had caused the loudish bang, and found Wayneman in a cloud of smoke, with burns on his legs and hands from reaching down to his trouser pocket to put the fire out. Pepys quizzed Wayneman about the origins of the gunpowder and was unsatisfied with the response he received. He therefore beat the lad “extremely”, which “troubled him” even though it was "necessary." So the third degree burns weren’t punishment enough?
My morning started in the cafe. I sat with a pot of tea, a pile of tissues, and my scores for the Roy Harper gig, which I studied like an A-level student. As I left the cafe, the owner called me over and wrote “timbre” on a piece of paper. He said he’d been arguing about the word's pronunciation and meaning all morning and thought I was the man to provide the answers. He was right, and I bored him silly with my response.
The rehearsal with Roy happened in the Blue Room at the Royal Festival Hall. It sounds rather fancy, but it's really just an airless room with no windows and a table with a coffee pot on it. The RFH (as I like to call it) is a venue that most classical musicians have played in. I've never performed there, which is hardly surprising as I'm not a performer. I did have a dressing room there once when I was helping ballet dancers to act (an impossible task), but I couldn’t find the stage door for toffee. I kept rushing up to people who looked like staff members, and asking where it was, but they all said they didn’t think there was one. It was only when one person said; “oh you mean the artistes entrance” that I understood the error of my ways. A bit of a fancy-schmanzy name for a stage door, if you ask me...
We had a very good session. Fiona has booked some remarkable players. I was hugely impressed by the standard of their musicianship, particularly as they’re having to play in some properly bizarre keys with more flats and sharps than I think it's healthy for a string player to deal with. Roy was incredible. I think we all felt rather privileged to be in his company.
I returned home to find 4 basses and a tenor sitting in my bedroom ready for a choir sectional/ note-bashing session. We certainly have a large amount of music to learn – and some of it is not at all easy... But the rehearsal went well, despite the fact that I could barely talk by the end of it. There’s a great amount of good will within the choir, and people seem particularly excited to be singing the requiem. It seems to bring out the best in them, which is a particularly lovely feeling for a composer.
So that’s about all from me. If I don’t stop working now, I’ll end up a quivering wreck. My glands feel like apples on my neck!
Pepys’ boy servant, the wonderfully named Wayneman, got himself into a rather peculiar situation on this date 350 years ago. It would seem that he’d found some gunpowder, stuck it in his pocket, forgotten about it, lit a match, and set off a mini explosion! Pepys went to see what had caused the loudish bang, and found Wayneman in a cloud of smoke, with burns on his legs and hands from reaching down to his trouser pocket to put the fire out. Pepys quizzed Wayneman about the origins of the gunpowder and was unsatisfied with the response he received. He therefore beat the lad “extremely”, which “troubled him” even though it was "necessary." So the third degree burns weren’t punishment enough?
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
Sun is shining in the sky
The sun shone brilliantly across London today. I found myself, at about 2pm, in Earl’s Court, walking across a canal bridge. Roy Harper was playing on my headphones. The sun was warming my face. The white art deco buildings were glowing yellow. I made a note to myself to remember how lovely that moment felt.
I’ve done nothing today but listen to Roy Harper songs. Rehearsals begin tomorrow and I think it’s my duty both to him, and my dear friend Fiona (who did the arrangements for the gig) to know exactly what I’m doing and at any given moment. I’m also aware what big shoes I’m having to step into. The last person who sat behind Roy, and subtly waved his arms about, was the great David Bedford, who sadly died a few months ago. He did the orchestrations on more seminal albums than I’ve probably ever listened to! I think it’s going to be a very emotional concert, not just for Roy, but for all of his followers.
Speaking of Roy Harper songs, I'd love to bring your collective attention to this Peter Gabriel/ Kate Bush duet, which I didn't know existed until very recently. There's something about the wall of sound vocals in the second verse that makes me feel so excited I want to scream!
I went to the brand new offices at Decca today to talk about my Requiem. I very much liked the guy I met. He spoke candidly, which I appreciated. I can sense a bit of a chicken-and-egg scenario brewing, however, as it’s pretty clear that the requiem works much better if listened to with an awareness of the story behind it. Afterall, what's the use of a wonderful quote from a gravestone if you don't know it's from a gravestone. And that requires help from TV people, which ought to be my zone of expertise, but there’s so little money in telly right now, that I almost don't want to ask! Afterall, every time another TV exec says no, a little piece of hope in my soul splinters off and stabs whichever organ it is that sits beneath the soul!
I guess there was that slight sinking feeling as I left the offices. At the back of any creative person’s mind is the glimmer of hope that someone will scream; “Get the contract department up here. I wanna sign this genius before he walks out the building!” No such exclamations happened today, but I did go away with a genuine sense that the guy I met enjoyed my music and was captivated by the concept of the work. What else could he have said after listening to just three of the movements played on nasty computerised sounds? He urged me to develop the piece, so I'm sensing the need for a pared-down premier of the work in the new year. As ever, with these grand plans, there are many mountains to climb before Xanadu appears on the horizon!
I went back to Highgate via central London and met Nathan for a late lunch in a pizzeria. On top of my whooping cough, I now seem to have a cold. It’s a fairly grotesque irony to be tripping off my tits on anti-biotics whilst merrily developing a second illness. I now seem to have a bacterial infection AND a virus. Oh Jubuilate! I think 2011 has to be the year of great sickness. Everyone I know has been ill in some way at east five times!
Right. Back to the scores. Or maybe Glee. I’m tired and hungry. What do they say? Feed a cold, starve a fever? I was so delirious this afternoon as we walked to lunch that this particular quote dripped out of my mouth as “feed a cold, starve a pizza.”
Is it me, or does this blog have no flow to it?
The pumpkin that Nathan carved two days ago has entirely caved in and now looks like a Venus Fly Trap.
350 years ago, Pepys met Sir William Penn’s eldest son, who was also called William. He'd just finished his studies at Oxford and was invited to spend the evening with the two Sir Williams and Pepys at Pepys’ house. By all accounts they had a lot of fun. William Penn, the younger would soon leave London, and keep heading West until he reached America. More specifically, Pennsylvania... which was named after him!
I’ve done nothing today but listen to Roy Harper songs. Rehearsals begin tomorrow and I think it’s my duty both to him, and my dear friend Fiona (who did the arrangements for the gig) to know exactly what I’m doing and at any given moment. I’m also aware what big shoes I’m having to step into. The last person who sat behind Roy, and subtly waved his arms about, was the great David Bedford, who sadly died a few months ago. He did the orchestrations on more seminal albums than I’ve probably ever listened to! I think it’s going to be a very emotional concert, not just for Roy, but for all of his followers.
I went to the brand new offices at Decca today to talk about my Requiem. I very much liked the guy I met. He spoke candidly, which I appreciated. I can sense a bit of a chicken-and-egg scenario brewing, however, as it’s pretty clear that the requiem works much better if listened to with an awareness of the story behind it. Afterall, what's the use of a wonderful quote from a gravestone if you don't know it's from a gravestone. And that requires help from TV people, which ought to be my zone of expertise, but there’s so little money in telly right now, that I almost don't want to ask! Afterall, every time another TV exec says no, a little piece of hope in my soul splinters off and stabs whichever organ it is that sits beneath the soul!
I guess there was that slight sinking feeling as I left the offices. At the back of any creative person’s mind is the glimmer of hope that someone will scream; “Get the contract department up here. I wanna sign this genius before he walks out the building!” No such exclamations happened today, but I did go away with a genuine sense that the guy I met enjoyed my music and was captivated by the concept of the work. What else could he have said after listening to just three of the movements played on nasty computerised sounds? He urged me to develop the piece, so I'm sensing the need for a pared-down premier of the work in the new year. As ever, with these grand plans, there are many mountains to climb before Xanadu appears on the horizon!
I went back to Highgate via central London and met Nathan for a late lunch in a pizzeria. On top of my whooping cough, I now seem to have a cold. It’s a fairly grotesque irony to be tripping off my tits on anti-biotics whilst merrily developing a second illness. I now seem to have a bacterial infection AND a virus. Oh Jubuilate! I think 2011 has to be the year of great sickness. Everyone I know has been ill in some way at east five times!
Right. Back to the scores. Or maybe Glee. I’m tired and hungry. What do they say? Feed a cold, starve a fever? I was so delirious this afternoon as we walked to lunch that this particular quote dripped out of my mouth as “feed a cold, starve a pizza.”
Is it me, or does this blog have no flow to it?
The pumpkin that Nathan carved two days ago has entirely caved in and now looks like a Venus Fly Trap.
350 years ago, Pepys met Sir William Penn’s eldest son, who was also called William. He'd just finished his studies at Oxford and was invited to spend the evening with the two Sir Williams and Pepys at Pepys’ house. By all accounts they had a lot of fun. William Penn, the younger would soon leave London, and keep heading West until he reached America. More specifically, Pennsylvania... which was named after him!
The pumpkins in their prime!
Oh dear...
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