Just like Cinderella

09.10.11. 

We've just been to see Bugle Boy at the Garrick Theatre. It was a one-night only showcase performance of a sort of review, which tells the life story of Glen Miller. Its USP is that it features a full big band, who were extraordinary. 

The eponymous hero was being played by our friend Ian, and he was perfect in the role. The script needs a bit of work to make it sound a little less like (as Nathan put it) "someone reading the Glen Miller Wikipedia page," but it's obviously a show which, marketed correctly, ought to put bums on seats, and it was such a treat to hear the music being played so fabulously.

Earlier on we went for a walk with Fiona, who told us a few shocking stories about Leona Lewis, winner-of-the-X-Factor-turned-mega-monster. It's such a shame to hear she's started behaving like a tragic mini-diva. She always seemed rather down to earth. I suspect she realises her career is taking a nose dive and has started kicking off; "does no one know who I think I am?" I also suspect that over-night stardom without any form of hard-grind creates kids with egos the size of the auditoria they're suddenly performing in, and massively inflated senses of their own importance. Still, she'll have a lifetime of obscurity in which to learn humility, so that's alright! That kind of behaviour wins countless enemies, who will eventually find a choice moment to deliver the fatal blow! 

Wednesday October 9th, 1661, and Pepys took his theorbo to be mended.  I'm told a theorbo was/is a type of lute with a "double peg box", which implies it came/comes with a fair number of strings.

Pepys spent the afternoon in the company of two beautiful women. He wined them, dined them, took them to the theatre and made sure they got home safely. What a gent, though God knows his  motives can't have been entirely honourable! 

Let it be a joke

I’ve been working all day, and am rewarding myself with an evening of rubbish telly. I’ve just started watching the X factor, and am already screaming at the screen. My favourite act, the alluringly feminine Johnnie, is being mentored by Louis Walsh, and has, as a rather predictable result, been covered in tin foil and surrounded by camp male disco dancers. This is a man with a stunning voice, who has the absolute potential to sing the most moving torch songs with absolute stillness. He’s not just another novelty act, and to dress him up like some kind of 1980s club scene reject, and make him jump about like a freak, is a massive mistake. It was like the worst karaoke in the cheapest bar on Old Compton Street and Johnnie is so much better than that. It’s time to put Louis out to pasture. All the other mentors have chosen material which really bucks the X Factor trend and makes their acts look current and natural. Go Micha!

The cafe this morning was buzzing. It’s so lovely to spend time in a place so close to my house, because it’s started to give me a real sense of my own community. Talk today was of the local man with Tourette’s who wonders up and down the Archway Road delivering lengthy rants at shocked passers-by. His language is apparently beyond all comprehension. I can’t wait to meet him! His favourite haunt, rather horrendously, is the second-hand children’s bookshop on the corner of Southwood Lane. His appearance apparently sends staff members and customers running for their lives. Mothers with children in pushchairs have been seen legging it down the hill with books flying in all directions.

I went to the gym. It was an unpleasant, but necessary evil, and I guess I feel a little better for going. It’s given me carte blanche to stuff my face with food this evening. Captain Caveman here I come!

350 years ago, Pepys ate Colchester oysters with Sir William Batten for lunch, and stayed the afternoon chatting with him. He took Martha Batten, Sir William’s daughter (and Pepys’ Valentine) to the theatre “for a frolique”. What fun! They didn’t stay for very long, didn’t enjoy the play, and everything cost Pepys a small fortune but he didn’t mind. I don't think that was the point of the excercise. I’m not sure what happened to Pepys’ resolution never to go to the theatre unless his wife was present. I guess these resolutions are only made to be broken!

Was it a dream, a lie?

Today seems to have passed in something of a blur. I got back to Highgate incredibly late last night, and was up relatively early, so I’m a bit woozy.

I went first thing to meet a potential tenor for our choir at Goldsmith’s University. He was a very interesting chap, and had a great voice – soulful with more than a whiff of jazz - but I’m not sure he’s right for the choir. He’s definitely a potential soloist for something in the future, but his sight-singing was very slow and the jazz intonation made me wonder if he’d be able to sing with the precision and vocal dexterity that this choir needs. It was horrible having to email him to say “not yet”, but I genuinely meant "not yet" and think that he’s got a big future ahead of him if he keeps to a consistent path.

I came back via central London, where I had my hair macheted from my head by a lovely girl from Australia who didn't know how to stop talking. I then worked in a cafe near Old Compton Street until about 4pm, when I met Louise, who's the editor of most of my films. She's a lovely lass, but one of those people I always feel the need to wind up. In the past I’ve told her all sorts of bullshit about the projects we're working on. She hasn't yet cottoned on to the curious fact that I can't tell a lie more than twice. If I'm talking and you think I'm spinning a yarn, all you have to do is ask if I'm lying. If I AM lying I'll lie again - but then always cave in if asked a third time. I feel too much guilt otherwise! When I'm working with Louise, my favourite game is to see what I can get her to believe. When we start looking through the rushes, I'll often make up a little story about the person being filmed. “That little girl is actually a 15-year old boy” (she believed that one.) “Just after we’d done that take, the old guy with the white fluffy hair walked too close to a naked flame, and his hair went up in smoke.” (She believed that one as well.) Editing with her is so much fun. She even allows me to put a made-up name in every single one of the credits. Metro: The Musical apparently had a performer called Alice Tyrd. Priceless!

We met Nathan and ate in a cafe called Diana’s round the back of Covent Garden. It used to be a favoured eating hole with West End turns, but it’s got a bit pricey, and the staff are weird. I asked for a full vegetarian breakfast, and was horrified at how little I was given; just a few fried mushrooms, some baked beans, a tomato and a piece of toast. I had food envy all meal, and kept pinching Nathan’s chips.

I came back home and have been working, really, ever since.

Monday October 7^th, 1661, and Pepys was once again in a pickle about his uncle’s will. There was all sorts of business involving Huntingdon-based courts, and various letters, but frankly I don’t think anyone reading this blog would be remotely interested in the details. He went to visit his doctor, but found him ill in bed. That must be like finding your hairdresser sporting a rubbish barnet! Doctors aren't meant to get ill - and if they do, they're meant to be able to cure themselves!

I leave you with a response to yesterday's blog from my friend Ellie; "further to your blog... There was the case of the drummer who got so depressed he threw himself behind a train!"

Any more drumming jokes are very welcome... And viola jokes whilst you're at it! You can't beat a good viola joke!

All I do is eat and sleep and sing

We're on the M6 somewhere near Knutsford. We've just stopped at one of those crazy 1960s service stations with the covered walkways over the motorway. I stood for a moment, watching the cars hurtling underneath me. They looked like fireworks. 

My lips feel very dry. We've done nothing but eat rubbish food all day.

It's been a long old day up in Glasgow, and driving through the Lake District in gale force winds and sheeting rain was not exactly a bundle of laughs.

We have, however, had a brilliant time. We were playing drums at a conference; a sort of team-building, post-lunch interlude aimed to keep the delegates focussed and entertained. We played for fifteen minutes, but spent 3 hours setting up percussion instruments; one on every chair for each of the 1400 people crammed into the auditorium.

Mark, who lead the session, was, as ever, superb. He's genuinely one of the most charismatic men I know. I very much hope the delegates enjoyed the show. As a non-drummer, I felt as though I was flying by the seat of my pants, but  everything seemed to go well. Perhaps I'll become a drummer... No wait, I'm a musician. Q. What do you call a bloke who hangs out with musicians? A. A drummer! Boom boom chink! Q. How do you know if a drummer's at your door? A. The knocking gets faster!

As we packed away the drums and shakers and sundry wooden ethnic-looking instruments, I sang an hour-long non-stop medley of music from the 1970s. It's important to keep the troops entertained. One of the ushers in the venue, stood and watched me with a great big, humourless, special-needs look plastered across her face. After a while she asked if I liked singing.  An oddly redundant question, I feel. 

Now, is it me, or are the Scots a tiny bit dour? I know it's a cliche and that most of them are not exactly fond of the English, but it would have been quicker to chisle a smile into some of the people I encountered in the city today. Maybe it was the relentless rain...

At breakfast this morning, I found myself surrounded by Russians, who, I'm afraid, also looked like they'd been sucking lemons. All the woman had bright red hair and entirely circular faces. They looked like suicidal pin cushions.

October 6th, 1661 was a Sunday, and Pepys went to church - twice. October marked the official start of the winter season, so many of the church's more wealthy parishioners had returned from country estate that they'd lived in over the summer. Pepys was in his element. There was a very pretty "black" woman - dark haired, rather than dark skinned, and a lady in a flowery satin suit, which he liked very much! 

I called you last night from Glasgow

It's funny where you find yourself on a wet October evening. I'm in Glasgow in an hotel. I've no idea where I am in relation to the rest of the city. There's a river just outside and lots of cranes and things. It feels very industrial in a not very pleasant way. It's all quite grim and dark up here. We got to the Lake District and the heavens opened, and I've not seen the sun since.

Driving up was an adventure. I've come to Scotland to help our friends Lisa and Mark with a drumming workshop, and was picked up by a suspicious-looking white van at Luton airport. We travelled at a good speed all the way up, despite being buffeted almost constantly by high winds which threatened to blow us off the motorway. 

My travel companions were Simon and Catherine. New friends. Great fun. There's something about a road trip which bonds people very quickly, and no subject was left undiscussed. 

I'm annoyed to report that my cold seems to have reappeared. My glands are up again. I had a frightening episode in the night when I started to cough and then couldn't breath. I was gasping for air, almost choking. Everything felt constricted. In the cold light of day I realise I was have some kind of spasm and from now on, need to remember to stay as calm as possible if the same thing happens again. As Lisa said earlier, "it happens to children. The worst case scenario is that you'll pass out, and at that stage your body will take over and start breathing normally again."

Her words were wise, but it was a frightening experience, so much that  I woke Nathan up afterwards to talk things through. He was wonderfully calming, and we had a cuddle until I drifted off to sleep again. 

350 years ago, Pepys spent the afternoon hanging a model of a ship from the ceiling of his chamber. He was very pleased with his work and went to The Dolphin for a celebratory drink with Sir William Batten. They ate bloat herrings for their tea, which I'm told were a form of smoked herrings.

When the summer's over and the dark clouds hide the sun

I’m rather glad that today is over. I’ve been with my parents in Cambridge. My father was having some tests done at Addenbrooke’s Hospital and had been told he wouldn’t be able to drive home afterwards. He seemed hugely grateful that I was helping out, but frankly, it's the least I could do for a man who's supported me relentlessly for 40 years!

We sat in a waiting room, which was filled to the brim with very frightened-looking men, all of whom were trying to be terribly brave for the people who'd brought them in. There's nothing sadder, in my experience, than a bloke trying to be dignified against all the odds. Some of them were in a proper mess. One didn’t seem to be able to lift his head. Another, a deeply frail old guy, had dressed up in his best suit, but was obviously finding the whole experience a little bit too much to deal with. His wife, who was also wearing her Sunday best, was fussing around and doing what she could against the odds, but everything was looking very bleak and she looked scared. My mother whispered in my ear; “I wonder what these people would have been like on their wedding days.” We spoke for a while about the promises they must have made to each other, "till death us do part." And there they were, 50 years later, bodies turning to dust, still facing problems together, still trying to protect one another, still refusing to give up against all the odds. It was so upsetting.

My Dad, however, emerged from the tests looking surprisingly chipper, and I’m confident everything's going to be just fine.

We drove back to Thaxted and watched Pointless.

350 years ago, London was buzzing with rumours that the French Ambassador was claiming the English had not only supported the Spanish during their recent spat with him, but actually taken up arms against his Embassy. He was stamping his little Gallic feet and had apparently called upon King Charles to apologise. He was even threatening to go back to France, which Pepys seemed very glad to hear!

Pepys met up with Captain Ferrers and they went to the King’s theatre. They arrived late, and only stayed for a short time, because they'd seen the play before and it seemed even worse the second time around.

He returned home to find his wife shouting at the servants who'd apparently been complaining that they weren’t being fed enough meat, a fact which had been made worse by their being given Suffolk cheese instead; a favourite of the Navy, which was renowned for being cheap, rather ghastly, and as hard as concrete! Sam had obviously got himself a whole load on the cheap and didn’t fancy eating it himself.

She said I began to sing long before I could talk...

I did a morning of work in the cafe and in the mid afternoon went for a long walk with Fiona. We decided it was going to be the last day of sunshine so ambled through the woods into Muswell Hill and then down the steep hill into Crouch End, where we met Vicky Matthews and her lovely son in a pub, where a pint of lemonade cost a ridiculous £3.80! Nicky's son is brilliantly porky. A fine figure of a nine-month-old with a freakish interest in books for one so young! He'll be reciting poems before he can talk! What was it Agnetha said? "Mother says I was a dancer before I could walk..."

We walked home along the disused railway line and watched the sky as it darkened from an odd lemon colour through peach into a bizarre shade of tangerine. They say a strange sunset often signifies a big change in the weather, so perhaps tomorrow will bring rain. 

350 years, ago Pepys went to the Tower of London to meet a man who was due to lend him 50 quid. They went to the pub and drank themselves silly. In the evening Pepys called in on Sir William Batten and his wife, who'd both been to see the pretty rubbish play that Pepys had watched the previous day. Elizabeth Batten enjoyed it hugely, and Pepys mocked her thoroughly... Obviously behind her back. He could be a proper little bitch when he wanted!