I’m not a particularly happy bunny today, if I’m honest. I went to White City first thing for a meeting about the symphonic project. I was quite excited because the idea had been for me to discuss my artistic vision, but instead the meeting rapidly shifted towards a discussion about British politics, which left me feeling that the idea we were proposing was almost dead in the water. There was a glimmer of hope in the form of another idea altogether, but we do appear to be back at square one; exactly where we were in about November last year. I always knew that the Olympics thing could prove to be something of a poisoned chalice, but had no idea quite how rocky things would get. How curiously the path towards happiness twists and turns...
I got home and sat down at the kitchen table to prepare a presentation for the meeting which still seems to be happening tomorrow. Unfortunately, after today’s news, I’m not sure I have anything constructive to talk about, so I went to the gym and ran around for a bit, cursing and stomping until I felt a little calmer. I’m hoping Emmerdale Farm will put me in a more cheerful place, but everyone's shouting at each other...
Still, it’s almost impossible to whinge about things with the terrible events in Japan blaring out on the television. I’m looking at people with absolutely nothing left in their lives; a family standing on a bridge because they’ve been told another Tsunami is on its way. A woman holding a tiny cardboard suitcase. There are television pictures of a little child screaming in terror as her village is washed away in a roar of brown water in the valley underneath her. It’s so horrifically sad. I also discovered via the oracle that is Facebook, that my mate Ash was in Tokyo when the earthquake happened. He’s subsequently found his way back to England, and seems quite chipper, but he must have been utterly terrified...
Thursday 14th March and Pepys went for a drink with John Creed, who told him the “long story” of his “amours” at Portsmouth with the daughter of one Mrs Boat. Pepys enjoyed the story greatly. He always enjoyed tales of love and lust. They went to the theatre together to see a play called King or No King, which sounds like a barrel of laughs, but Pepys reports that it was acted well. After the theatre, they went for a drink in the Temple, and Creed asked Pepys for his advice on matters romantic. Obviously the daughter of Mrs Boat was either not enough for him – or proving a trickier fish to catch than he’d first thought. Sadly, Pepys doesn't provide us with the intimate details...
Monday, 14 March 2011
Sunday, 13 March 2011
Thaxted studios
My parents' house in Thaxted became a mini television studio today, with big lights on stands, various expensive-looking cameras and a bloke holding a boom mic on a stick! The purpose of the day was to make a little taster tape for a documentary about songs people remember from their childhood days. It was also an excuse for my folks to meet Nathan's family, for only the second time in 8 1/2 years!
The combined clans had been assembled primarily as guinea pigs or interviewees for the taster tape. They were, without exception, hugely natural in front of the camera, and I was very grateful to them for turning up and being so utterly brilliant. Nathan and his sister Sam sang a particularly theatrical rendition of Phantom of the Opera, which I found incredibly touching, my Mum sang a very quirky song about washing, Nathan's mother, Celia sang Sweet Polly Oliver beautifully, and we came together en masse to do all sorts of rounds and folk songs. I think we made a pretty lovely sound and even Lewis, Nathan's 12 year-old nephew, joined in. I was thrilled to see that Nathan's niece, Becky, has also discovered music, and seems to have taken to the piano like a duck to water.
The highlight for me was probably my Dad recounting a curious story about a photograph of a public execution in the States, which he found in a drawer at his Grandmother's house, next to a bakelite record of a folk song, which recounted the story of the very man who was swinging from the scaffold. When he asked his Grandmother about it, the picture mysteriously vanished. He told the story particularly well. I was very proud.
The house looked marvellous when we arrived, and the parents lit an open fire; perhaps the last before the summer. My Mother did the most amazing spread. It was like a Roman banquet, with rows of cheeses and puddings and flans and pies and fruits begging to be eaten...
In the midst of the mayhem, Hilary and Ellie were being screen-tested as potential presenters for the documentary. I wouldn't like to have to pick between them, as I thought they were both surprisingly professional. I love the idea of setting off on this bizarre journey with one of them, although, as with all these things, it's worth reminding myself to keep saying yes and then to put everything to the back of my mind, because the likelihood of anything actually making its way onto the television is rather small. Even if everyone becomes utterly passionate about an idea, there are always politics to wade through, and an almost bewildering number of hurdles to avoid; something which is becoming all too apparent on our symphonic project!
350 years ago, Pepys spent the morning reading a dictionary of seafaring terms (as you do). It was probably worth it. By the time he'd died, his knowledge of all things Naval had become legendary. His fame isn't just based on his diaries!
The brilliantly candid Pepys made a welcome return in the second half of the entry. After noting that his parents, and various other family members had popped by in the evening, he felt obliged to mention that they'd stayed until he was 'weary of their company.' Do you think he told them they were boring?! Probably.
The combined clans had been assembled primarily as guinea pigs or interviewees for the taster tape. They were, without exception, hugely natural in front of the camera, and I was very grateful to them for turning up and being so utterly brilliant. Nathan and his sister Sam sang a particularly theatrical rendition of Phantom of the Opera, which I found incredibly touching, my Mum sang a very quirky song about washing, Nathan's mother, Celia sang Sweet Polly Oliver beautifully, and we came together en masse to do all sorts of rounds and folk songs. I think we made a pretty lovely sound and even Lewis, Nathan's 12 year-old nephew, joined in. I was thrilled to see that Nathan's niece, Becky, has also discovered music, and seems to have taken to the piano like a duck to water.
The highlight for me was probably my Dad recounting a curious story about a photograph of a public execution in the States, which he found in a drawer at his Grandmother's house, next to a bakelite record of a folk song, which recounted the story of the very man who was swinging from the scaffold. When he asked his Grandmother about it, the picture mysteriously vanished. He told the story particularly well. I was very proud.
The house looked marvellous when we arrived, and the parents lit an open fire; perhaps the last before the summer. My Mother did the most amazing spread. It was like a Roman banquet, with rows of cheeses and puddings and flans and pies and fruits begging to be eaten...
In the midst of the mayhem, Hilary and Ellie were being screen-tested as potential presenters for the documentary. I wouldn't like to have to pick between them, as I thought they were both surprisingly professional. I love the idea of setting off on this bizarre journey with one of them, although, as with all these things, it's worth reminding myself to keep saying yes and then to put everything to the back of my mind, because the likelihood of anything actually making its way onto the television is rather small. Even if everyone becomes utterly passionate about an idea, there are always politics to wade through, and an almost bewildering number of hurdles to avoid; something which is becoming all too apparent on our symphonic project!
A pregnant Hilary interviews Nathan and Sam in front of the cameras
350 years ago, Pepys spent the morning reading a dictionary of seafaring terms (as you do). It was probably worth it. By the time he'd died, his knowledge of all things Naval had become legendary. His fame isn't just based on his diaries!
The brilliantly candid Pepys made a welcome return in the second half of the entry. After noting that his parents, and various other family members had popped by in the evening, he felt obliged to mention that they'd stayed until he was 'weary of their company.' Do you think he told them they were boring?! Probably.
The Gaitch family with Ellie and Hilary at Thaxted windmill
Saturday, 12 March 2011
For god's sake
It's a beautiful spring-like day and Highgate village is bathed in beautiful sunlight. It feels a real shame to need to work, but on Tuesday, I have to deliver the presentation of my life in front of a room filled with terrifying BBC execs, so I need to feel utterly prepared.
I saw one of the banned humanist posters today, the ones about the up-and-coming census, that scream "if you're not religious, for God's sake say so!" I think the posters carry a vital message. People tend to leave the religion box blank, or half- heartedly tick the Christian box because they want to counter-balance the growing number of people identifying themselves as Muslim.
An unrealistic number of people registering themselves as religious means an unrealistic amount of public funds gets siphoned off and put towards pointless religious initiatives and activities. In my opinion, the sooner we grow up and accept that Britain is a secular society where a minority practice religion, the better. I firmly believe that Blair governed this country on a Christian doctrine, which is why he went to war without the backing of the electorate.
I therefore find it particularly galling to think these posters have been banned, when I consider how often I've found myself horribly offended by adverts for churches with inexcusable anti-gay messages on the tube.
I bought myself a scone for lunch and had it with some raspberry jam, which was delicious. I'm now heading to Julie's to spend the evening in front of the gogglebox. Nathan's been there all afternoon attending an afternoon of craft and cake. They sit around, as you'd expect, knitting and sewing and eating nice things. I am envious, mostly about missing out on cake, but until I find myself a craft, I can't expect to be invited. Obviously I can't just tip up and work on my computer!
Not the most interesting diary entry from Pepys on this date 350 years ago. He was a happy bunny after finally finding out that he was definitely due a salary for the time he'd spent at sea.
He celebrated by asking the Battens over for a collation; a sort of light supper, which went on til late.
I saw one of the banned humanist posters today, the ones about the up-and-coming census, that scream "if you're not religious, for God's sake say so!" I think the posters carry a vital message. People tend to leave the religion box blank, or half- heartedly tick the Christian box because they want to counter-balance the growing number of people identifying themselves as Muslim.
An unrealistic number of people registering themselves as religious means an unrealistic amount of public funds gets siphoned off and put towards pointless religious initiatives and activities. In my opinion, the sooner we grow up and accept that Britain is a secular society where a minority practice religion, the better. I firmly believe that Blair governed this country on a Christian doctrine, which is why he went to war without the backing of the electorate.
I therefore find it particularly galling to think these posters have been banned, when I consider how often I've found myself horribly offended by adverts for churches with inexcusable anti-gay messages on the tube.
I bought myself a scone for lunch and had it with some raspberry jam, which was delicious. I'm now heading to Julie's to spend the evening in front of the gogglebox. Nathan's been there all afternoon attending an afternoon of craft and cake. They sit around, as you'd expect, knitting and sewing and eating nice things. I am envious, mostly about missing out on cake, but until I find myself a craft, I can't expect to be invited. Obviously I can't just tip up and work on my computer!
Not the most interesting diary entry from Pepys on this date 350 years ago. He was a happy bunny after finally finding out that he was definitely due a salary for the time he'd spent at sea.
He celebrated by asking the Battens over for a collation; a sort of light supper, which went on til late.
Friday, 11 March 2011
Tsunami
I went into Soho first thing, and sat in a cafe on Old Compton Street, listening to music from Wales. I was leafing through the BBC website, searching for inspiration, when I came across this article, which has to be one of the saddest things I’ve ever read.
It hasn't been a very happy day for news. As soon as I turned the television on this morning, I saw pictures of the tsunami in Japan. Tsunamis and breakfast don’t go together very well and I was astonished by the pictures. Houses and cars, looking like little pieces of Lego in the bath were floating across fields. It was utterly surreal. In the ever-approaching distance, traffic was speeding along a road which was surely destined to be washed away by the eerie sheet of water.
I immediately started to worry about my brother, who’s in Hong Kong at the moment. Obviously Hong Kong is as far away from Japan as England is from Senegal, but the whole of the Pacific Ocean is on red alert for fear of copy cat tidal waves.
Pictures came in from Tokyo, where they’ve just had one of the biggest earthquakes ever recorded. I can’t imagine what it must be like to feel the earth rippling under your feet like that. There were shots of a woman in an office trying to pick up the computers that were flying off the tables. She was actually trying to tidy up – mid earthquake.
People were standing at stations trying to get home on invisible trains. Most of them were wearing masks. It’s a particularly odd custom, I feel. In fact, I get quite insulted when I see Japanese people sitting on the tubes in this country covering their faces as though they were all sitting in a nail bar. What germs do they think they’re going to get? Don't answer that question! It’s probably why they all live so long. Quite why, in the mayhem of earthquakes and tsunamis, I should notice the masks, I’m not sure...
I had another meeting about this presenting job today. This time, the producers wanted to meet my friends Ellie and Hilary. They’re interested in one of them co-presenting the series with me. It transpires I’ve known them both for almost 20 years, which I guess has to count for something in terms of on-screen chemistry. Both came across incredibly well, and both were liked enormously by the powers that be. I felt incredibly proud. We’re all heading up to Thaxted on Sunday to do some screen tests. It’ll be interesting to see if either of them “pops” on camera. It’ll be interesting to know if I do! Talk about diving into the unknown!
Afterward the meeting, I had lunch with Hilary in town. We ate in the Stock Pot, which is cheap and cheerful food at cheap and cheerful prices. I had some kind of pasta mush and she had a similar dish that they were calling risotto. There was jelly and ice cream for pudding, which felt like the most decadent thing I’ve ever eaten.
Monday 11th March 1661, and Elizabeth was out of the house all day. Believe it or not, she returned with a new set of teeth! Pepys wrote; “among other things she hath got her teeth new done by La Roche, and are indeed now pretty handsome, and I was much pleased with it.” Obviously, the English had not yet decided whether teeth were singular or plural, but you get the general gist.
It’s possible Elizabeth’s teeth were simply “whitened”, which meant the enamel on her teeth was scraped away by La Roche, who was one of only two high-class dentists practising in London at the time. She may have simply had her false teeth replaced. Dentures were usually made from elephant ivory, or ox bone, but they could be made from real teeth taken or stolen from a dead person. There was a glut, I’m told, of false teeth available after the plague! Would you really put the teeth of someone who’d died from the plague in your mouth?
It hasn't been a very happy day for news. As soon as I turned the television on this morning, I saw pictures of the tsunami in Japan. Tsunamis and breakfast don’t go together very well and I was astonished by the pictures. Houses and cars, looking like little pieces of Lego in the bath were floating across fields. It was utterly surreal. In the ever-approaching distance, traffic was speeding along a road which was surely destined to be washed away by the eerie sheet of water.
I immediately started to worry about my brother, who’s in Hong Kong at the moment. Obviously Hong Kong is as far away from Japan as England is from Senegal, but the whole of the Pacific Ocean is on red alert for fear of copy cat tidal waves.
Pictures came in from Tokyo, where they’ve just had one of the biggest earthquakes ever recorded. I can’t imagine what it must be like to feel the earth rippling under your feet like that. There were shots of a woman in an office trying to pick up the computers that were flying off the tables. She was actually trying to tidy up – mid earthquake.
People were standing at stations trying to get home on invisible trains. Most of them were wearing masks. It’s a particularly odd custom, I feel. In fact, I get quite insulted when I see Japanese people sitting on the tubes in this country covering their faces as though they were all sitting in a nail bar. What germs do they think they’re going to get? Don't answer that question! It’s probably why they all live so long. Quite why, in the mayhem of earthquakes and tsunamis, I should notice the masks, I’m not sure...
I had another meeting about this presenting job today. This time, the producers wanted to meet my friends Ellie and Hilary. They’re interested in one of them co-presenting the series with me. It transpires I’ve known them both for almost 20 years, which I guess has to count for something in terms of on-screen chemistry. Both came across incredibly well, and both were liked enormously by the powers that be. I felt incredibly proud. We’re all heading up to Thaxted on Sunday to do some screen tests. It’ll be interesting to see if either of them “pops” on camera. It’ll be interesting to know if I do! Talk about diving into the unknown!
Afterward the meeting, I had lunch with Hilary in town. We ate in the Stock Pot, which is cheap and cheerful food at cheap and cheerful prices. I had some kind of pasta mush and she had a similar dish that they were calling risotto. There was jelly and ice cream for pudding, which felt like the most decadent thing I’ve ever eaten.
Monday 11th March 1661, and Elizabeth was out of the house all day. Believe it or not, she returned with a new set of teeth! Pepys wrote; “among other things she hath got her teeth new done by La Roche, and are indeed now pretty handsome, and I was much pleased with it.” Obviously, the English had not yet decided whether teeth were singular or plural, but you get the general gist.
It’s possible Elizabeth’s teeth were simply “whitened”, which meant the enamel on her teeth was scraped away by La Roche, who was one of only two high-class dentists practising in London at the time. She may have simply had her false teeth replaced. Dentures were usually made from elephant ivory, or ox bone, but they could be made from real teeth taken or stolen from a dead person. There was a glut, I’m told, of false teeth available after the plague! Would you really put the teeth of someone who’d died from the plague in your mouth?
Ice cream on tarmac
I’ve got a bit sloppy in relation to my blog of late. I don't think I'm writing words that I would particularly want to read, and I keep almost forgetting to write anything at all. It’s 11.30pm, for example, and I’ve only just realised that I’ve not yet written today's entry. This is probably as much to do with the fact that I've very little to say. It’s been one of those days where I’ve just, well, sort of existed.
I went up into the village first thing, and sat in Costa until lunchtime, watching and listening to countless recordings of various musicians from Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland. It’s very important for me to know exactly who’s out there, so that I can go to a meeting planned for Tuesday and make everyone feel secure that they're potentially backing the right project, and furthermore, that I’m the right man for the job. That said, I have folk music now coming out of my ears, to the extent that it's becoming impossible to tell one fiddle player from the next. At one stage today I was even wondering whether Only Men Aloud, that highly cheesy male voice choir from South Wales, would be a good addition to the project. I'm pleased to say that it was their singing Total Eclipse of the Heart that made me realise how wrong I was! I've never heard such a dreadful arrangement of that awesome song... and one of the tenors got way too close to a microphone. Here they are being represented by little lego men, which needs to be seen to be believed!
It was all slightly tragic in Costa today. A community police officer had set up a little surgery on one of the tables at the front of the cafe. She had her little hat on, and was displaying a little sign and lots of leaflets about car crime and anti social behaviour, which she proudly laid out in front of her, but in the hour that she sat there, not a single person went to talk to her. I wondered for a long time what I could go and say to her, but drew a complete blank. So, she sat there, looking a little bit sad and lonely, before packing her leaflets into a bag, and taking the little sign down...
I went to the gym after lunch and jumped around a lot, before returning home and I’ve sat on the sofa ever since; one eye on the telly, the other on my computer as I continue my in-depth research.
Nathan has gone to watch some cabaret tonight, so it’s just me and the rats, one of whom has just jumped onto my lap and badly scratched my thigh. I've been wanting to eat a Milk Tray strawberry centred chocolate all evening, but don't have any.
The 10th March, 1661 was a Sunday. Pepys went to St Olave’s and heard a "good" sermon read by Mr Mills. He returned home for a “poor Lenten dinner” of coleworts (cabbage, I’m told) and bacon. I’m not altogether sure that eating bacon counts as giving up meat, but I guess the will was still there. My Nana didn’t think bacon was meat either. She had a similar view about chicken. When we arrived at her house, we’d always have the same conversation. I’d tell her I was a veggie, and she’d say; “have some chicken then” to which I’d respond “but I don’t eat meat” and then she’d say; “but chicken’s not meat.” She also used to cook vegetables for hours, until they were soft like blobs of ice-cream on tarmac in the mid day sun.
I went up into the village first thing, and sat in Costa until lunchtime, watching and listening to countless recordings of various musicians from Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland. It’s very important for me to know exactly who’s out there, so that I can go to a meeting planned for Tuesday and make everyone feel secure that they're potentially backing the right project, and furthermore, that I’m the right man for the job. That said, I have folk music now coming out of my ears, to the extent that it's becoming impossible to tell one fiddle player from the next. At one stage today I was even wondering whether Only Men Aloud, that highly cheesy male voice choir from South Wales, would be a good addition to the project. I'm pleased to say that it was their singing Total Eclipse of the Heart that made me realise how wrong I was! I've never heard such a dreadful arrangement of that awesome song... and one of the tenors got way too close to a microphone. Here they are being represented by little lego men, which needs to be seen to be believed!
It was all slightly tragic in Costa today. A community police officer had set up a little surgery on one of the tables at the front of the cafe. She had her little hat on, and was displaying a little sign and lots of leaflets about car crime and anti social behaviour, which she proudly laid out in front of her, but in the hour that she sat there, not a single person went to talk to her. I wondered for a long time what I could go and say to her, but drew a complete blank. So, she sat there, looking a little bit sad and lonely, before packing her leaflets into a bag, and taking the little sign down...
I went to the gym after lunch and jumped around a lot, before returning home and I’ve sat on the sofa ever since; one eye on the telly, the other on my computer as I continue my in-depth research.
Nathan has gone to watch some cabaret tonight, so it’s just me and the rats, one of whom has just jumped onto my lap and badly scratched my thigh. I've been wanting to eat a Milk Tray strawberry centred chocolate all evening, but don't have any.
The 10th March, 1661 was a Sunday. Pepys went to St Olave’s and heard a "good" sermon read by Mr Mills. He returned home for a “poor Lenten dinner” of coleworts (cabbage, I’m told) and bacon. I’m not altogether sure that eating bacon counts as giving up meat, but I guess the will was still there. My Nana didn’t think bacon was meat either. She had a similar view about chicken. When we arrived at her house, we’d always have the same conversation. I’d tell her I was a veggie, and she’d say; “have some chicken then” to which I’d respond “but I don’t eat meat” and then she’d say; “but chicken’s not meat.” She also used to cook vegetables for hours, until they were soft like blobs of ice-cream on tarmac in the mid day sun.
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
A tin train
It's freezing cold and I'm not wearing enough clothes. A quick look into the night sky reveals a set of stars shining particularly brightly by London standards. This means there are no clouds, and explains the sudden dip in temperature. And here was I thinking Spring was just around the corner...
I've been with my goddaughter, her parents and her grandmother this evening. Philippa cooked us all a delicious vegetarian meal, whilst we played with a miniature clockwork train from communist Russia. It was made from tin and was absolutely beautiful. I could have watched it going round in circles for hours. Deia had rather less patience!
...So we did a jigsaw, which had plainly been drawn and cut in the 1970s. It showed a dear little woodland scene with mice and things in frilly dresses poking their oversized heads out of a treehouse. A non-specific rodent postman was holding letters and wearing an enormous cap. I asked Deia which of the mice she liked best, and she responded, "the beetle," which I thought was a particularly interesting answer. She went on to tell us that her Mummy had done the puzzle when she was a child. She then proceeded to repeat this fact eight times using different inflections. I wondered if we weren't responding with enough incredulity in our voices!
This morning I went with Edward to Soho to meet some producers to talk about this documentary series that there's some talk of my presenting. At the moment the production company seem to be into the idea of my presenting it with an old and dear friend, and are interviewing three of them in the next few days. They're looking to see how we interact. Apparently there's some hope we'll turn out to be the next hairy bikers!
I'm still fairly convinced it will all come to nothing, but I've officially decided to enjoy the ride!
350 years ago, and Pepys went to Whitehall, where he walked for several hours in St James' Park. He said the park was very lovely of late, no doubt since they'd created some water features. It was here that he discussed the idea that he might receive 60l as payment for his "extraordinary" work at sea, almost a year previously. Strikes me he did very little but eat, sleep and play the lute, but nice work if you can get it!
He called in on Sandwich, who was back from the country bearing the sad news that their mutual aunt wasn't expected to live a great deal longer. Pepys, as usual, took the news rather matter-of-factly! Different times...
I've been with my goddaughter, her parents and her grandmother this evening. Philippa cooked us all a delicious vegetarian meal, whilst we played with a miniature clockwork train from communist Russia. It was made from tin and was absolutely beautiful. I could have watched it going round in circles for hours. Deia had rather less patience!
...So we did a jigsaw, which had plainly been drawn and cut in the 1970s. It showed a dear little woodland scene with mice and things in frilly dresses poking their oversized heads out of a treehouse. A non-specific rodent postman was holding letters and wearing an enormous cap. I asked Deia which of the mice she liked best, and she responded, "the beetle," which I thought was a particularly interesting answer. She went on to tell us that her Mummy had done the puzzle when she was a child. She then proceeded to repeat this fact eight times using different inflections. I wondered if we weren't responding with enough incredulity in our voices!
This morning I went with Edward to Soho to meet some producers to talk about this documentary series that there's some talk of my presenting. At the moment the production company seem to be into the idea of my presenting it with an old and dear friend, and are interviewing three of them in the next few days. They're looking to see how we interact. Apparently there's some hope we'll turn out to be the next hairy bikers!
I'm still fairly convinced it will all come to nothing, but I've officially decided to enjoy the ride!
350 years ago, and Pepys went to Whitehall, where he walked for several hours in St James' Park. He said the park was very lovely of late, no doubt since they'd created some water features. It was here that he discussed the idea that he might receive 60l as payment for his "extraordinary" work at sea, almost a year previously. Strikes me he did very little but eat, sleep and play the lute, but nice work if you can get it!
He called in on Sandwich, who was back from the country bearing the sad news that their mutual aunt wasn't expected to live a great deal longer. Pepys, as usual, took the news rather matter-of-factly! Different times...
Tuesday, 8 March 2011
Upward trajectory
It’s Pancake Day, and I’m waiting very patiently for Nathan to come back from a rehearsal. I feel a little bit like Madam Butterfly. Very shortly, I’ll take myself on a little trip to the shops to buy ingredients for batter. It’s something to do... I’m a bit bored and lonely!
I went up into the village first thing, and sat in Costa Coffee. I saw my friend Philippa’s mother getting onto a bus and ran in slow motion to try and catch up with her. Sadly, the bus pulled away just as I reached it. It all felt rather filmic.
I've been researching Scottish music all day as part of this on-going mission to get the BBC Nations to come on board with our symphonic project. There are some utterly amazing musicians in Scotland; the most impressive of whom are surely a band called LAU. Take a look at this for virtuoso music making at its very finest.
Apart from searching for incredible musicians, I’ve also been looking at various Scottish folk songs, and crying like a baby during most of them. I don’t know why they affect me so badly. At one point, my research took me to the violinist, Nicola Benedetti playing The Lark Ascending, and that just about finished me off, to the extent that I started to worry about the neighbours. I know I’ve got a lot going on at the moment; the hell of this court case and the financial worries that have been generated by whole sorry story, but there is NO excuse for heaving like some kind of 18th Century love-sick teenager! I suppose it can only be a positive thing that music has such a visceral effect on me but sometimes it can be very embarrassing. A certain chord, or combination of chords and I’m a quivering wreck.
After a late lunch, I went to the gym and ran, hopped, skipped and rowed myself around the room for the best part of an hour. I felt very fit afterwards. I guess I AM very fit at the moment, although my workout was somewhat compromised by some poor woman on Deal or No Deal, who was having just about the worst game I’ve ever seen. In the end I had to stop looking at the TV screens, because her sad little face was making me feel like I needed to donate money to charity!
Friday 8th March, 1661, and Pepys went to the Tower of London for lunch with his friend Sir John Robinson, who was Lieutenant of the complex. The “high” company included the Duchess of Albemarle, Lady Anne Moncke, who Pepys described as “ever a plain homely dowdy.” Poor woman. The ladies retired in the evening, and the men got drunk, and there were various rows. Pepys returned to bed “almost overcome with drink” and wrote in conclusion, “I was much contented to ride in such state into the Tower, and be received among such high company, while Mr Mount, my Lady Duchess’s gentleman usher, stood waiting at table, whom I ever thought a man so much above me in all respects.” Pepys was still on an upward trajectory.
I went up into the village first thing, and sat in Costa Coffee. I saw my friend Philippa’s mother getting onto a bus and ran in slow motion to try and catch up with her. Sadly, the bus pulled away just as I reached it. It all felt rather filmic.
I've been researching Scottish music all day as part of this on-going mission to get the BBC Nations to come on board with our symphonic project. There are some utterly amazing musicians in Scotland; the most impressive of whom are surely a band called LAU. Take a look at this for virtuoso music making at its very finest.
Apart from searching for incredible musicians, I’ve also been looking at various Scottish folk songs, and crying like a baby during most of them. I don’t know why they affect me so badly. At one point, my research took me to the violinist, Nicola Benedetti playing The Lark Ascending, and that just about finished me off, to the extent that I started to worry about the neighbours. I know I’ve got a lot going on at the moment; the hell of this court case and the financial worries that have been generated by whole sorry story, but there is NO excuse for heaving like some kind of 18th Century love-sick teenager! I suppose it can only be a positive thing that music has such a visceral effect on me but sometimes it can be very embarrassing. A certain chord, or combination of chords and I’m a quivering wreck.
After a late lunch, I went to the gym and ran, hopped, skipped and rowed myself around the room for the best part of an hour. I felt very fit afterwards. I guess I AM very fit at the moment, although my workout was somewhat compromised by some poor woman on Deal or No Deal, who was having just about the worst game I’ve ever seen. In the end I had to stop looking at the TV screens, because her sad little face was making me feel like I needed to donate money to charity!
Friday 8th March, 1661, and Pepys went to the Tower of London for lunch with his friend Sir John Robinson, who was Lieutenant of the complex. The “high” company included the Duchess of Albemarle, Lady Anne Moncke, who Pepys described as “ever a plain homely dowdy.” Poor woman. The ladies retired in the evening, and the men got drunk, and there were various rows. Pepys returned to bed “almost overcome with drink” and wrote in conclusion, “I was much contented to ride in such state into the Tower, and be received among such high company, while Mr Mount, my Lady Duchess’s gentleman usher, stood waiting at table, whom I ever thought a man so much above me in all respects.” Pepys was still on an upward trajectory.
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