Parental ban

I heard on the news today the somewhat astounding story that, in a school in Glasgow, parents have been banned from talking to teachers. Apparently teachers were being subjected to aggression which made them extremely stressed. Parents have therefore been provided with areas in the school playground to congregate in whilst waiting for their children to emerge. Whichever way you look at this particular story, there's a problem. It's either an issue that parents have such a sense of entitlement that they feel they can go into a school and give teachers mouthfuls of abuse based on, one assumes, a fairy limited grasp of what goes on inside said school, or it's an issue that the teachers themselves are so lily-livered that they can't deal with a bit of whinging at the end of the day without going off sick with stress because they work in an industry which is mollycoddling its employees. Are these teachers genuinely feeling physically threatened or are they just unable or unwilling to stop themselves from taking these things too personally?

The word stress gets bandied about all the time these days. All jobs are stressful. Life is hideously stressful, but perhaps people's ability to deal with stress at work is directly disproportionate to how indulgent a company is when it comes to dealing with the well-being of its staff. Is it fair to suggest that more employees will claim to be stressed if stress is a legitimate way of getting signed off work?

Sometimes I wonder whether stress is used as an excuse by people who simply think their job is too mind-numbingly boring to continue. Or perhaps by people who are aware that they're simply not very good at their jobs. I'm being unfair. Genuine stress is awful. God knows I went through enough of it whilst working on Beyond the Fence.


The truth of the matter in the case of this school is probably that there's so little morale in teaching at the moment that the head teacher simply said "sod this for a game of soldiers, we're not paid enough to deal with this crap." There comes a point when someone just gets bored of a sort of low-grade abuse. Who knows? It's certainly a rather surprising story!

The little tramp

We're watching the new series of The Jump at the moment. Bradley Wiggins has already sworn live on TV. I've no doubt that someone will have a terrible accident before the episode is over. Quite how Channel 4 managed to insure this show, I'm not sure. Obviously I'm supporting Gareth Thomas. He's Welsh and gay!

I worked very hard today on a song from Em before heading back to the gym for the first time since getting ill. I have to say, one of the best sensations in the world is showering after working out for the first time in an age. I don't run on the treadmills any more. I've done cross training ever since realising that all the back problems I was having were down to jogging. It's pretty scary to think I did two years of osteopathy before realising what was causing the issue. Getting fit made me poorly!

We went to Brent Cross after the gym and I finally bought a couple of pairs of trousers. I only had two pairs when I woke up this morning and neither had any form of fastenings! I'm such a tramp. It's very much in the blood. Did I mention that Charlie Chaplin was my great grandfather's cousin? Or so the story goes...

We did a shop at the 24 hour Tesco store on Colney Hatch Lane. This week is all about healthy eating. I have bought scores and scores of vegetables and shall be existing on a diet of stew and soup for the foreseeable future.

I wish I had something more interesting to write about. I don't.

Chandelier

I've had a bit of a lonely day today. Nathan was out at rehearsals and I was stuck at home, watching telly and convincing myself I was writing music.

We've been watching Dance Dance Dance on the telly, which is the show where celebrities and their real-life friends and partners learn incredibly complicated and iconic dance routines from the world of pop. I've been waiting for Wuthering Heights to appear, but sadly, they're keeping things a little more up to date! There's a contestant on the show called Chrissy Brooke whose partner, Jonny Labey, I think, was on Eastenders. Both are extraordinary dancers, who seem to be running away with the competition. Anyway, on today's show, Chrissy was given the task of dancing Chandelier by Sia, which has to be one of the most stunning songs coupled with one of the most extraordinary videos of recent years. The original promo, which has been seen by 1.5 billion people on YouTube, features a young girl, Maddie Ziegler, who is a truly compelling performer. The choreography, by Ryan Herrington, is typically quirky and unnerving.

Performed by an adult, however, the dance maintained its quirkiness, but gains a sadder, clown-like quality, which I found utterly devastating. Brooke is as wonderful an actress as she is a dancer. I am often excited by dance, but rarely moved by the art form, yet this performance made Nathan and me cry like babies.

If you're one of the very few people not to have seen the original video for Chandelier on YouTube, I suggest you do so when you next have a few minutes spare with a cup of tea!

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=2vjPBrBU-TM

Good old Ken Clarke

I woke up this morning to read an article about Kenneth Clarke, who was the only Tory to vote against the Brexit bill in Parliament. He's a good man. A legend, in fact, who also happens to have a fairly good track record when it comes to voting on LGBT issues. He's one of the only MPs who actually remembers Enoch Powell and the damage done by his River of Blood speech, so when he references that dark period of British history in relation to Brexit, we'd be fools not to listen. But fools we are...

What struck me most about what he was saying is quite how undemocratic this whole process has been. The 16 million people who voted to remain no longer have a voice in Parliament. How can this be? Only 100 or so MPs are actually arguing our corner. Theresa May's constituents voted to remain. Jeremy Corbyn's similarly voted to remain. And yet there they are, skipping hand-in-hand through the Brexit channel. Jeremy Corbyn's decision to place the whip on his MPs and not make the vote a matter of conscience further convinces me that he will be the death of the Labour Party. A constituency MP's role is to represent his constituents, not to do what he thinks he needs to do to remain in power. Furthermore an MP's duty is to protect the common man from making stupid mistakes born out of ignorance. An opposition party's role is to provide opposition to the government. Because Labour no longer seem to want to provide opposition, I no longer have a party I can vote for, which is an almost astonishing form of disenfranchisement.

I helped out on another quiz this evening, which I was thrilled to discover was taking place in Highgate Village. Not since I lived in the flat above the flat I worked in with Shaheen Baig have I ever had such a blissfully short commute to work!

Twelve hour kip

I'm both proud and slightly embarrassed to admit that I slept until mid day today! My plan was simply to sleep until I woke up after getting the very strong impression yesterday that the cold was returning. I obviously needed the sleep, but the whole day has felt incredibly short as a result. I can count on the fingers of one hand what I've actually achieved.

I managed to get into Muswell Hill to visit Barclays Bank, where, incidentally, all the employees smelt really nice! I had some forms to fill in regarding the recent fraud on my account, and I was advised to have them faxed from a branch to make sure they didn't go walkabouts in the post. I'm astounded that anywhere still faxes. Faxing is so old fashioned that my iPhone is routinely changing the word to "facing." I remember the days when you'd often get confused and end up phoning the fax number by mistake. You'd hear a weird bleeping, whistling noise down the phone. To my knowledge, I'm not sure I've personally ever sent a fax.

I came back to Highgate and wrote the first draft of a song for Em. This particular song has been a bit of a stumbling block for me because I haven't yet got to grips with what it is or what it needs to be. I've sort of always glided over it when working on the script, but this has always made me uncomfortable - almost as though what I've written beyond that point is somehow invalid because I haven't allowed the song to change anything dramatically.

The song is actually an argument which, in musical theatre terms, is dangerous ground. Sung arguments can be toe-curlingly dreadful and make the audience just want to giggle. The other danger zone in musical theatre writing, for different reasons, is the love duet. It's very difficult to find any way beyond the cringingly obvious to draft lyrics which express love, but furthermore, these songs universally run the risk of becoming what Nathan describes as "the crisp packet moment." This is the point at which all the children in a pantomime audience become bored and get their sweets out because they have no interest in Jack and Jill telling each other how much they're in love. In more adult shows, audiences reserve the love duet for the moment to get their programmes out to see whether the leading man has been in Eastenders.

I've been watching Season One of "The Jump" on the Channel 4 catch up service to see whether I might enjoy watching Season Two when it starts on Sunday. The programme features a series of celebrities learning how to do winter Olympic sports. It's high-jeopardy; people are enduring bone-shattering accidents, but ultimately no one is any good at any of the sports they're trying out. It's all a little underwhelming, but my capacity to watch these sorts of shows knows no bounds. I like my telly vacuous. Sadly, in their ultimate wisdom, C4 have suddenly taken the series down, so I'll never know who wins. Why would they take the old series down on the eve of the new series? It just doesn't make sense to me.

I can feel it coming in the air tonight

I was out and about all day today, which was plainly not the best idea because, frustratingly, my cold feels a little like it's returning. Boo!

The day started in Greenwich with a search for Extra Strong Mints. You'd have thought there might have been a little newsagent somewhere near Cutty Sark, but it seems Greenwich is rather too posh for that! What do people buy their Guardians? The best it could offer was a fancy "ye olde sweetie shoppe" establishment. I went in and asked the lady behind the counter if she had a packet of Extra Strong Mints. She looked across the jars keenly. "I've got Everton Mints!" She said, proudly, "and Mint Imperials... and Humbugs... and Glacé Mints and Toffee Mints... And chocolate-coated Peppermint creams." Poor woman. I could see the hopelessness of the situation reflected in her dark, doe-like eyes. I walked away feeling a little sad for us both.

The purpose of my visit to Greenwich was to mentor a young music student at Trinity College who has written a musical. He seems a hugely capable young man, but I guess I've collected a few pearls of wisdom over the years, which it will be a privilege to pass on. I actually think it speaks incredibly well of the college that they would think to pair up one of their composers with a working professional. So many music departments (including my own) refuse to acknowledge musical theatre and there are very few composition lecturers who know their Steins from their Sondheims.

I took the DLR back to Bank and sat in a cafe writing for a few hours. I had a very strange sense of foreboding at about 4pm, which was quite overwhelming. I can't pinpoint its cause, but I felt deeply vulnerable, somehow. Perhaps it had its roots in the Brexit vote in Parliament which I didn't realise had happened until slightly later. I'm embarrassed to say that my ex-partner, the hitherto-deeply-Europhile, Stephen Twigg voted for triggering article 50, but proud of my own MP Catherine West for being brave enough to stand against the Labour Party whip.

It's quite interesting. Obviously one of the theories as to the cause of Brexit is the fact that there's a great hatred of London within the rest of the country. It's a very tangible thing. People think Londoners are snobby, brusque and aloof and they think that news organisations favour stories about the capital. But I heard a really interesting (and accurate) analogy today. Voting for Brexit is a little like living on a farm where you know one of the chickens lays golden eggs, but instead of selling the golden eggs and making the farm even more profitable, you kill the golden chicken and hope the other eggs will prove to be as valuable. London will be utterly shafted by Brexit. And if you're reading this, and you voted Brexit, I hope you're never able to afford to go on holiday to Europe again.

The very fact that the white paper which has been so hastily thrown out includes a ludicrous typo suggesting that British people should have fourteen weeks holiday a year, demonstrates just how ill-conceived and shambolic the whole situation is. There's probably a lot of Brexit voters who think we could run a county on fourteen weeks of holiday a year. Let the immigrants do all the hard work whilst we relax. Oh, no, wait...

I worked on a quiz in the City of London this evening - or what we might need to start calling the former City of London post Brexit. Don't expect any loyalty from any of those companies. They're already opening offices in Dublin. The Irish are rubbing their hands together with glee. It was a fun, but enormous quiz, with 32 teams. Marking the papers was an immense adrenaline rush.

I had a charming email today from the good folk at Alexandra Palace who were offering me and Nathan a tour of the old theatre where we got married, which is currently being done up. I was incredibly touched to learn that our wedding is considered an important part of the "eclectic and wonderful history of the building." When I first moved to London, I lived in a Crouch End bedsit which had a view of Ali Pali. I used to sit and watch the busses driving along the top of the hill in front of it. I have always felt that it was the most beautiful building in London and to be told I will always be known as part of its history - which includes the invention of television - is one of the biggest honours anyone could ever bestow on me. Such a thrilling email to receive.

Good night friends. Something's in the air.

Hype

Am I the only person in the world with no interest in seeing Hamilton? I just can't believe that any show is worth that much hype. No show is that good, and I'm pretty convinced I'd simply be disappointed. Actually, to tell you the truth, I often hear people singing songs from the piece and am always bitterly disappointed. I realise this is no particular mark of whether a show is good or not. The songs I've heard have always been being performed out of context with just a piano accompaniment. But my worry is that, if I pay loads of money to see a show - particularly that show - I'll constantly be asking myself whether it was good value for money. I hate how much theatre shows cost at the moment. I was going to see Dreamgirls with Mez, but the cheapest tickets are £40, which I simply can't afford. There's something rather tragic about an industry whose own people can't afford to attend the shows they make! In my view much cheaper tickets should always be available for members of Equity and MU.

There are still some tickets left for "Brass in Concert", which happens in Birmingham at the Old Rep Theatre on Monday 20th February. The performance is being conducted by Harrison Williams, who played flugelhorn in the original production and acted in this summer's version. That lad wants to know how the show feels from every angle. He'll no doubt choreograph the next incarnation! Tickets are incredibly reasonably-priced at £8 and £10, and this is a fabulous opportunity to hear the score again - probably your only chance to hear it this year. I'm very excited to be there.

I finished another song from Em today. It's mad and incredibly fast, but Nathan thinks it can be faster and madder still! Jeez! I'll put it away for a bit and see how it feels when I get it out of the bottom drawer in a few weeks.