Tamarac

We’re sitting on one of those double-decker American-style trains that looks like it’s made out of corrugated tin. We’re speeding through the countryside in New Jersey on our way back to New York. The sun is shining. It’s extremely hot and apart from a trapped nerve in my neck, all is good!


Yesterday started less favourably with nothing but heavy rain. We trudged around Manhattan, our shoes sucking in water like chamois leather. I bought an umbrella, which immediately turned inside out, and after twenty minutes snapped in half and spiralled off down the road. We were carrying way too many bags and obviously holding them badly, because I woke up this morning with a dull ache which starts in my neck and ends in my left thumb! Nathan thinks it might be a "healing crisis" following the massage I had in the village yesterday. I think, more troublingly, the massage made my muscles relax and then I entirely messed things up by immediately walking 3 or 4 miles with a heavy bag strapped to my shoulder. There’s nothing like rain and hordes of people to put me on edge and make me feel tense.

I was enormously relieved to be leaving the city in the late afternoon. Christopher Sieber met us at Penn Station and we sped out of New York to an idyllic little town in the New Jersey hills called Millburn. To get anywhere decent in New Jersey, you have to pass through the most horrible-looking industrial heartlands which are filled with swollen brown rivers, concrete bridges, telegraph poles and freight yards. The rain had brought floods and everything looked deeply depressing. We arrived at Millburn just as the sun broke through for the first time, and from that moment on, everything was wonderful again.

Christopher was performing the role of Edna Turnblatt in Hairspray at the Paper Mill theatre in the town. It was a fine fine production and he was incredible in the role. The pit orchestra was larger than any I’ve seen in the UK and the standard of singing in the production put the West End to shame. Both of these facts reminded me, if that were at all necessary, how seriously the Americans take their musical theatre and how sad it is that the Brits don’t invest in our dying industry.

Afterwards, Chris drove us into deepest New Jersey to his house on a private island in the middle of Lake Tamarac. We’d last been there a few years ago, but everything felt exactly the same; just as wonderful as I’d remembered. The island is only accessible by boat, and the experience of rowing, by torchlight, across the black, black water was magical beyond words. I have seldom seen a sky filled with so many bright and beautiful stars. We ate quesadilla and drank margaritas in front of an open fire and I drifted off to sleep on the sofa whilst the conversation drifted around in the air above my head.

I had a broken night’s sleep. The pain in my shoulder woke me up on several occasions but waking up this morning to beautiful, bright sunshine was a much needed tonic. The trees on the island are just beginning to turn brown and red and we stood and watched Christopher’s partner, Kevin, as he rowed across the lake on his way to work. The boat looked like it was balancing on tin foil.

Leaving Tamarc

Strewn across the ground, like a thick gnarled carpet, were the acorns that Christopher had written about on Facebook; “what’s the deal with these acorns falling like rain; ouch!” I hadn’t thought it was possible for acorns to be so bountiful and dangerous until Nathan was attacked by one as he sat on a hammock. He now has a bump on the crown of his head!

350 years ago, Pepys’ day started with a visit from his brother Tom, who'd been chucked out of the familial home by his father for staying “out of doors” whoring, one suspects, too many times. Tom was, by all accounts, a troubled lad, with a speech impediment which unfortunately made him socially “undesirable.” By his death in 1664, he’d had an illegitimate child with his maid and owed hundreds of pounds to various people. On this occasion, he seemed genuinely repentant, so Pepys agreed to speak to their father on his behalf.

The rest of Pepys' day was spent in Westminster in various offices, pubs and at one stage Westminster Abbey, where there was only a “thin” congregation for vespers, which prompted Pepys to write; “so I see that religion, be it what it will, it but a humour, and do the esteem of it passeth as other things do.” Religion in his mind was fluid; as much steered by fads and fashions as anything else in life.

On returning home, Pepys was greeted by Elizabeth, who told him about the things she’d purchased during the day for the house, which included a bed and furniture for her chamber. Pepys was very pleased with what she'd bought... For a change.

Humidity

So here we are in New York! My computer clock tells me that it’s 1.19pm in London, but over here it’s only just past 8am, so we’re only just up! I’m not feeling particularly well. Yesterday, I couldn’t stop sneezing; huge surreal, debilitating sneezes, which seemed to come from nowhere and certainly weren't the most thrilling thing to have to endure on a flight; particularly one that seems to last an eternity!


We arrived in Newark and were immediately hit by the unbelievable levels of humidity in the air. I suspect this must be how it feels like to live somewhere like Hong Kong but having never been anywhere like that, I was utterly horrified! As we journeyed towards New York, the situation got worse and worse. At Penn Station, uniformed staff were just dripping with sweat. One poor woman was standing by some ticket barriers complaining bitterly that the noise they were making would end up giving her tinnitus, whilst the makeup skated off her face like ice cream on the outside of an oven. She’d obviously gone into melt down and I sympathised enormously with her. There was a moment when I just wanted to give up and sit on the ground whilst the rush hour New Yorkers swam past me. I think I would have simply melted into the sidewalk.

When we arrived at Christopher’s on the Upper West Side, Frank told us he’d never known anything like it and that the weather certainly wasn’t typical for this time of year, or any time of year in New York, and that no one had any idea why it had suddenly got so humid. We went for supper at Tom’s Diner, our favourite cafe in this part of town. Tom’s enormous Neon sign, or the word “Restaurant” therefrom is featured in Seinfeld as a cutaway to establish the coffee shop in that show. By the time we’d got back out, a scorching wind was tumbling down Broadway, rattling windows and causing the marquees outside shops to billow spectacularly.

We’ve woken up this morning to the most ridiculous amount of rain. New York is no fun at all in the rain, so we might have to find a little cafe to station ourselves in whilst we watch the world passing by. Perhaps I should try and find myself a massage. My back aches from all of yesterday’s sneezing. That said, this will need to be the lowest budget of all lowest budget holidays.

Monday October 1st 1600, and Pepys started the day doing work for Montagu. He had his dinner back at home and was joined by his father. They went upstairs to look at the bedrooms, and talked about what might work in terms of hangings. The plastering had been finished and the painters were poised to move in, so the time had nearly come for the soft furnishings. In the afternoon there was much drinking at the Mitre. Pepys returned to his house to watch over the workmen and went to bed slightly worried; “My laying out upon my house in furniture are so great that I fear I shall not be able to go through them without

The Tyndarids in Fulham

We're on our way to New York! About time, really. I need a few days where I'm not thinking about the motet. I may even feel human by the time we return. My dear friend, Sharon, is getting married over there and I can't wait to see her - not that you can ever expect to see much of a bride on her wedding day! 

We're taking the Tyndarids to their Uncle Gene, who'll be looking after them in Fulham whilst we're away. 

Yesterday I heard the wonderful news that my close friend, Helen, who very bravely moved to Cambridge at the start of the summer has got her dream job as a councillor in one of the colleges there. I'm very proud of her. There are a lot of positive things happening in the world at the moment. I often find that this happens in the autumn.  New school year and all that... 

So if I didn't have to endure a terrifying flight, I'd be very excited right now. What is it with flying? You all sit there in a big metal box pretending that it's not weird to be hurtling above the clouds at hundreds of miles per hour. I don't know what terrifies me more; fear of terrorism or fear of science! Ho hum...

Another short but sweet diary entry for Pepys 350 years ago. It was a Sunday and he spent the afternoon and 'forenoon' at St Olave's whilst Elizabeth and the servants cleaned the mess that the builders had left behind. By the time he'd returned, the place was still a tip. His last sentence, a rhyming couplet, reveals all; "At night went to bed without prayers, my house being every where foul above stairs."

What's the deal with acorns falling like rain?

I’ve just finished another day of admin. I went into town to have my hair cut first thing and then spent the rest of the morning traipsing around stage doors in the West End, putting up posters in search of gospel singers. I tried to focus on shows that had a large percentage of black actors, or musicals which place an emphasis on good quality singing. There are a surprising number of dance-based shows out there at the moment. My hair, thanks for asking, looks absolutely no different to how it did when I went in. Still, it only cost me £6, so I mustn't complain. I got a nice chat in with the bargain.

I came back from town and met Fiona in a Highgate greasy spoon. I had a full English vegetarian breakfast, which went down very well after all that walking around. This afternoon, I sent more emails to various gospel-type people. It’s very slow-going and I'm still extremely stressed. I got hot and bothered and a bit panicky on the tube today, which had a lot to do with the rain and the sauna-like conditions us Londoners have to put up with down there, but a fair amount to do with anxiety, I suspect.

Despite the weather, the trees opposite are still showing no signs of being ravaged by the autumn. My parents are currently in Nottinghamshire, where they say the trees are very definitely on the turn. My Dad was sitting underneath a giant horse-chestnut and the conkers were apparently falling on him like miniature missiles. Earlier on, my American friend, Christopher, wrote the following as his facebook status;

"What's the deal with the acorns falling like rain?! Ouch!"

Where are these dangerous places? I can safely say that I've never been hit by a falling nut in my life! Well, not one from a tree...

So, David Milliband has "stood down from front line politics” now that his weird brother has taken the Labour party leadership reins. It all feels a little bit like Master David is throwing all the dollies out of his pram. The fact remains that both of the Millibands are strange chaps, with very little experience of politics, and odd Wallace and Gromit-type mouths.

...I’d call them Barbie dolls, but they’re not handsome enough. There genuinely doesn't seem to be anyone left in the Labour Party with any form of charisma. It's very clear that it’s going to be some time before New Labour appear in power again.

September 29th 1660, and Pepys’ workmen finally finished plastering his house. He was thrilled with the results, writing "and indeed my kitchen is now so handsome that I did not repent of all the trouble that I have been put to, to have it done."

Pepys also mentioned that Prince Rupert arrived at court on this date but that he was “welcome to nobody”, which seems strange. The Prince had fought bravely on behalf of the Royals in the Civil War, and would continue to fight bravely against the Dutch in the coming war.

Art Neuveau pigeons

I’m sitting in the Haringey Council offices in Crouch End. It’s too hot in here and it smells of dirty socks and poo. To make matters considerably worse, children's TV is blaring out of a television mounted on one of the walls and a baby is screaming so loudly that all I want to do is yell myself. Fiona called earlier to say that the Northern Line was broken and that she’d subsequently had to abort a bus because the traffic was so bad. The man sitting in front of her had compared the roads to Bombay. I've never been to India, but imagine the Council offices in Crouch End, with their chaotic staff and pungent smells could well be reminiscent of that country! I spoke to a great lummox who went out of her way to make things difficult to me. I was forced to wait 45 minutes to see her and all she did was hand me a form, tell me to fill it in, and then join the end of the queue again. So it was another hour before I could be seen. Fortunately, the lady, Marie, who saw me that time was charming, and went out of her way to help me despite the battleaxe breathing down her neck. I sent a letter to Haringey Council to say how lovely Marie was.


Crouch End is, of course, the centre of the British Art Neuveau and rather appropriately the pigeons I fed in the square outside were almost every shade you could ever imagine pigeons to be! They were beautifully shaped as well, with refined, rather long necks and not a bit like normal London pigeons. Some were as white as doves; others were speckled with brown and mauve. None were conventional-looking.

Today has been one of those days which was filled with the most ridiculous amount of admin. There were trips to Muswell Hill and Crouch End to visit various banks and post offices and there were huge queues almost everywhere. I found myself running for buses and then walking long distances because the credit on my Oyster card ran out. I was very relieved to get back home.

This morning I had a rehearsal with Nic, who is singing the soprano part in the motet. We covered another two movements and she did incredibly well. Afterwards, we had a long chat about her acting career and she seemed very despondent about things. Imagine my delight, therefore, when she called me later on to tell me she'd just landed a brilliant part in a TV drama that could easily change the path of her career. Bravo Nic!

Friday September 28th, 1660, yielded another short but very sweet entry for Pepys. Most of the Navy office had cleared off to Chatham in Kent to do some business involving a ship there and Pepys was left in the office with Sir William Batten. I'm not sure his hatred of the man had developed by this stage but he went home in the afternoon and hung out with his workmen until 11pm. He gave them alcohol and was “very merry with them.” He seemed very pleased that they were a “droll” bunch; proof that he’d not entirely lost his common touch!

SOAS

I'm sitting in my favourite Costa Coffee, opposite Fenchurch Street station. In a couple of hours I’m due a second rehearsal with the early music choir and I'm very much looking forward to it.


My back and legs ache. I’ve been trudging around London all day. My search for gospel singers now finds me sticking up posters in various universities, drama schools and theatres. Today’s epic journey started at my former drama school, Mountview, in Wood Green, and has seen me in Bloomsbury Square at SOAS, at the Royal Academy of music in Marylebone, Arts Educational in Chiswick and a host of stage doors along The Strand. I've just walked all the way from Drury Lane to Monument. Pepys, who regularly walked this journey, must have had better legs than I!

I had lunch in a greasy spoon in Turnham Green, which could well have been the smelliest cafe in the world. It certainly had the stickiest tables I’ve ever tried to rest my hands on. I felt filthy just sitting there. Still, the peas they fed me tasted lovely!

I’d never visited SOAS before. For those who aren’t familiar with academic acronyms, SOAS stands for the School of African and Oriental Studies. Although it's part of the university of London, its “alternative” reputation has always preceded it. I was expecting it to be teeming with rather willowy, bohemian types, and it didn’t let me down. In fact, the outside courtyard looked like a 1969 advert for the United Colours of Benetton. I’ve seldom seen such a multi-cultural parade of whimsies. Everyone looked glamorously hippy with a little twinge of dirt! These people would go to Glastonbury with just one pair of underpants, which they'd periodically rinse out in a river. The Hare Krishnas were handing out delicious-looking free curries and there was a massive queue of people waiting for them. It looked like a most interesting place and if there isn’t a grungy mized-race gospel singer lurking somewhere in there, I’ll be very disappointed.

Today was a rather typical in terms of my experience of working on the Pepys Motet. I was fairly calm this morning. Everything had been sorted with the opera choir over the weekend, and I'd just emailed them to confirm rehearsal dates. Just as I sat down to lunch, an email popped into my inbox which informed me that one of them couldn’t do it any longer, so I find myself searching for singers again. Two steps forward and one step back; the story of my life. The adrenaline rushes continue. I realise now that they come when I feel I’m pushed for time. Earlier on, I was trying to send something to the MU on my i-phone before my tube carriage hurtled underground and I lost reception... and that familiar feeling started creeping up my legs. Right now I'm trying to post this blog before my rehearsal begins and my legs are beginning to tingle...

The bottom line is that I’m just stressed out! I’m recognising all the symptoms; neuralgia, sneezing. The next thing I’ll have an all over body rash! Poor Nathan is having the deal with the lion’s share of my erratic behaviour and told me over the weekend that he felt I needed to look very seriously into how to manage my stress levels before embarking on the next of these types of projects. It’s certainly not going to be possible for me to do something like this on my own again. Watching X factor last night was hell on earth. One chap started singing The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face and it literally destroyed me. I can't go to the doctor, because he or she will just tell me I'm stressed and need to take some time off work, which for a freelancer is deeply impractical advice. Not working makes me feel even edgier!

Pull yourself together, Benjamin. This will never do!

Pepys wrote a brief and not particularly interesting entry on this date 350 years ago. He spent much of the day, either watching over his workmen, or going through official papers with Montagu. I’d love to say something more entertaining happened, but fear I've already written more words in this paragraph than he did on this date!

Savoury Crepes

We went to Covent Garden today, and had crepes for lunch with our friend Carey. He talked about Flashdance, which has just started previewing at the Shaftesbury Theatre and it was fascinating to hear all the inside gossip. I can’t wait to see the show, although I'm not sure how I'd get on with a building filled with so many different and equally important creative people all needing to have their say, and in some cases, have their egos massaged. Surely with so many lyricists, book writers, composers, directors, choreographers and producers rushing around, the danger is that a show can end up being nothing but a product of compromise?


I'm never sure that I'm the biggest fan of savoury crepes. I think they go all spongy with anything other than a little squeeze of fresh lemon juice and a sprinkle of sugar. When you start throwing cheese and mushrooms and bits of raw tomato into the equation, it turns into something it’s not meant to be. Nevertheless, I dutifully put my prejudice aside and ordered something called “A Greek”, which had all sorts of things like feta cheese, aubergines and halloumi scattered all over it. Sadly, when it arrived, it looked like something you might try to avoid stepping in on a pavement on a Sunday morning. It was enormous and completely circular, and it arrived on a giant deft plate to fit in with the Dutch theming of the restaurant. Suddenly I understood why there were clogs hanging from the walls! Anyway, I now feel like something made of lead is sitting in my stomach, so I’m not sure I’ll be rushing back.

It rained almost solidly today, thereby cementing in my mind the notion that summer is well and truly over, and that autumn might not be happening this year.

September 26th 1660 was a Wednesday. Pepys started the day at St Olave’s Church where, once again, he was discussing the gallery that was being built to elevate Pepys and the two Sir Williams above the hoi-palloi. Pepys went home afterwards and stayed there all afternoon with the workmen, claiming that his house was in a “most sad pickle.” He then went to his office and got distracted by a book about geography, which he read until late. When he eventually returned home, he found his live-in clerk, Will Hewer was missing. This made him angry, so angry, in fact, that when poor Hewer eventually got home, Pepys gave him a clip around the ears.