And the first birds start to sing

We’ve been in slow motion all day - moving at half speed in a sort of Sunday afternoon haze of tiredness. Nathan was quite drunk last night – and it must have been close to 4am when we finally turned in. The dawn chorus had already started. I forget what it’s like to live the life of a West End performer. Everything shifts by about 3 hours. Breakfast becomes lunch, lunch becomes tea, and bedtime, in early summer, is at dawn!

Almost tragically, I’ve been working all day. I guess it's not really the best way to to spend a Sunday, especially after a doctor's told you to relax, but I have an incredibly busy week ahead, and a great amount of arranging to do for my concert, so no rest for Benjy.

Fortunately we were rescued by Fiona in the early evening, and the three of us went for a long walk. Autumn has definitely arrived. There’s a chill in the air. In fact, the heating's just gone on for the first time. We went in search of a warming pudding, and set off for our walk with food cooking in the oven. I was horrified when Nathan announced we’d been gone for an hour. We ran back to the house, expecting to find the place on fire, but our oven is so rubbish, that, an hour and a half after we’d fed it a chips and veggie burgers, the damned things still weren’t fully cooked! It was another half hour before we could eat.

The whole situation became an absolute joke, when the pudding we’d bought on our walk – a lovely chocolate thing – burnt to a crisp within ten minutes of being put in the oven!

Pepys, like me, stayed in bed for most of the morning 350 years ago. Elizabeth spent the day interviewing maids. Their current one, Mary, had been on trial for a month, but had left to work in a “tradesman’s house where there was but one maid.” Pepys joined his wife in the latter stages of the interviews and they ended up choosing a girl called Nell, who arrived with her mother, and refused to be hired for less than half a year. Her amusing cheek got her the job!

How I treasure every minute

I’m getting rather bad at posting this blog before Midnight, which was always the plan. One day I’ll realise I’ve forgotten altogether, and Christmas will be ruined!

Today seems to have lasted forever. It started in my favourite cafe, where I worked until lunchtime. Fiona popped in, and we had lunch at hers before heading off to Hampstead Heath. If the doctor advises you to de-stress by going to the heath, to the heath you must go. It was a beautiful autumn day and we ate ice lollies as we wandered around. The light was astonishing, and the trees, which were just beginning to turn autumnal colours, were almost glowing. We climbed trees, took photographs, and ran around with thousands of dogs, many of which resembled their owners!

Just call me Brigitte Bardot

incredible light...

In the evening I went to see Naked Boys Singing. I haven’t seen it since it opened at the Charing Cross Theatre, and it’s in very good shape – which is largely due to Nathan, who is the show’s resident director. I went in, essentially to look after our friend Christopher’s agent, who is over from New York. He’s a lovely bloke, and I very much enjoyed talking to him, and spending time with the charming cast after the show.

We met Philip Sallon outside Heaven. It was wonderful to see him, but I wondered if he seemed a little distant. Maybe he was slightly confused by the hundreds of people who seemed to have decided to cram themselves into that area under the arches. It really is a Mecca for all sorts of weird and wonderful people. There was a man wearing a lime green suit which actually gave me a headache just to look at!

350 years ago, and Pepys’ testicle was still sore; slightly inflamed by all the walking he’d done on the previous day. How awful to have been ill in those days - illness so often meant death. Pepys went to St Paul’s churchyard to meet a woman who'd owed money to his uncle before he’d died. She wanted to meet him in the churchyard because she was too scared of repercussions if she revealed her address. All very cloak and dagger, but Pepys was keen to get the money back, so went along with the theatrics... worrying all the time about his testicle!

By the way, this is Brother Act... and they're extraordinary! I urge you all to see them when they next perform.

The urge to move on

As I was leaving for the cafe this morning, I found a letter addressed to me on the door mat. The letter was from Sir Arnold and Lady Wesker. I'd recently talked to him about the court case, and sent him the song Ubuntu to listen to. Ubuntu is, of course, the only song of the four songs I wrote that The Choir Invisible actually heard, and it was the one that was rather comically rejected on the grounds that it wasn't 'soul-gospel' enough. There were countless letters from choir members saying what an "strange" piece of music it was, without structure or repetition. For those who didn't get to hear it the first time, have a listen to it at www.benjamintill.com/Ubuntu.

The letter that I received from the Weskers said the following; 

"Dear Benj. Ubuntu is great. You were obviously landed with a judge who didn't like your lip! What a dreadful, dreadful saga. Take courage.

Ps. We may not be able to come to the concert, but I'd like to buy a couple of tickets. Please find enclosed a cheque for £500, which we can just afford because I have sold the Welsh cottage." 

My heart instantly melted, and I dissolved into floods of tears. For five minutes I was a little weeping ball at the bottom of the stairs. I wept for joy and I wept because I felt the pain finally beginning to disappear. I thought of all those dreadful letters that had been read out in court; letters that said what an unpleasant man I was, that claimed I'd only wanted to write music for their choir to have my "ego massaged." Finally  the misery that they'd caused was beginning to melt. 

Arnold has been there for me at every stage of my career, supporting me and offering wise words every time that things have gone wrong. He's not well off and this is a huge sum of money for him. I immediately phoned to say it was too much, but he simply kept saying that he wished it could be more.

I have never felt as loved as I have  since this court case. My work has never felt more validated. The lyrics for the offending songs are being rewritten, and I'm reclaiming them as a work that amateur choirs across the country can enjoy. I send thanks to every single one of you who's sent messages of good will over the last month. I hope as many of you as possible will get to London to see the premier of the work on November 27th so that I can thank you all in person.

I'm even hoping that the Choir Invisible will come and stand on the steps of the church singing to you all as you enter - very much as they did as I entered the courtroom on that dark day. It was a lovely gesture then and I think it would be a lovely gesture on the 27th.

350 years ago, Pepys ventured out of the house for the first time since his unfortunate bruise appeared. He went by water to Westminster and spent the afternoon drinking with the troublesome Captain Ferrers - repeatedly toasting the Duke of York, whose birthday it was. Not that Pepys ever needed an excuse for drinking copious amounts of alcohol!

Her voice was husky and it sounded quite exciting

I've just been watching Nathan in his Brother Act cabaret at The Pheasantry. It was remarkable. I was almost pathetically proud. They were slick, hysterically funny, and they sang beautifully. The act takes cabaret to a very different level and  I predict great, great things for them.

I have a feeling that things might be on the turn. I got a higher than normal PRS cheque through the post today. I'm not quite sure who's been performing my work, but I'm eternally grateful to them. Right now, every single penny counts! 

I went to the doctor today, spurred on by Philippa, who said these crazy spasm fits I'm having every time I cough sound like croup. I'd never heard of the condition, but a bit of research on wikipedia revealed it's something that babies get. Hmm. 

The doctor put my mind at ease. It's not croup, but it does have a name. Don't ask me what. Something Latin. She believes the cough might hang around for another few weeks, and attributes the spasms to my being ridiculously stressed. The cough fuels the stress. The stress fuels the cough and I've created my very own vicious circle! Hurrah for me! 

The advice is to try  to stay calm whenever the spasms happen, safe in the knowledge that normal breathing will recommence soon enough. She recommended long walks on the Heath and plenty of exercise. 

At the moment I'm stuck in a tunnel on the Northern Line because someone is "trespassing on the tracks." It's not quite how I imagined my evening ending, but everyone in the carriage is really cool. We're having a lot of fun! 

And what of Pepys? Well, 350 years ago, he spent the day chilling out in his house, still recovering from his embarrassing bruise. He treats us to a very detailed account of what he was wearing, which is charming enough to repeat in full;

"this day left off half skirts and put on a wastecoate, and my false taby wastecoate with gold lace." 

I bet he looked a picture. Like a beautiful trannie! 

I'm hearing images...

I’m being haunted by a song which keeps playing on Radio 6. It’s not yet been released, but it seems to be played at all the right moments. Take today, for example, I’d just removed my headphones in the cafe, and was staring wistfully at a bicyclist on the street outside, and there it was, somehow louder than the previous track, and there I was, suddenly in a 5 minute trance. I’ve tracked it down on You Tube – and anyone who likes their music slightly alternative, yet delicately epic should have a listen. Put some headphones on and allow it to caress your soul!

Today’s been about trying to transfer one of my earliest songs from manuscript paper onto the computer. The songs I wrote with Arnold Wesker for Letter to a Daughter are incredibly complicated and far more detailed than anything I’ve written recently. The song from the musical we hope to perform on November 27^th is the busiest of the lot, and I’ve never imputed so many freakin’ semi-quavers into one score. When I close my eyes, I see dancing spiders.!

With miraculous ironic timing, Sir Arnold himself emailed at lunchtime, telling me that the woman who’d performed Letter to a Daughter in Korea (with songs written by a different composer) had decided she wanted to stage a performance of the piece over here. She’s apparently incredibly wealthy and this would be something of a vanity project for her. Apparently she’s not “grabbed” by my music and has asked ‘Nold what he thinks about her commissioning a different composer. He, in turn, asked me what I felt.  I told him that the thought of a big British production of the work without my music would make me feel a little sad, but if she was offering to take the piece to a wider audience, he should grasp the opportunity. Instinctively, I can’t imagine anything less appropriate than the lead role (which is implicitly Jewish) being played by a Korean, but I guess if she wants to do it, she should do it with the music she wants to sing. Besides, the music I wrote was probably as implicitly Jewish as Arnold’s text, so it's hardly surprising it doesn’t resonate with her. If I were really sneaky, I’d simultaneously stage my own production of the work! Arnold’s been telling me to direct it for years!

I’m currently in the process of finding a name for the choir that I’ve been setting up. A name is such an important thing, because it tells you in a second everything you need to know about an ensemble. I put out a plea on Facebook to see if anyone had any ideas. Ideally I’m looking for something a little bit eccentric, a little bit wistful, a little bit fun, and totally free of any puns, or any sense of a classical ensemble who are taking themselves too seriously. People, in response, have left some incredibly witty puns; totally unusable, but hysterically funny. My favourite has to be “Choral Sex” – although I was also partial to “Ad Nauseum.” As Ellie pointed out, many choirs have Latin names... Thanks for that! Any suggestions gratefully received.

Saturday 12^th October, 1661, and Pepys spent much of the day in bed – although the swelling on his testicle had begun to get better. There was no other news... unless you count another round of machinations concerning Uncle Robert’s will, which was surely fast becoming the most bitterly contested will on record!   

I'm sure I had my dinner watching something on TV

We're watching Stephen Fry's programme about language on i-player, whilst chowing down on a lovely plate of pasta. I cooked it, everyone said it was delicious, and I felt pathetically proud!

Fiona and I have just been for another long walk. Nathan stayed at home to rehearse his monktastic cabaret with Jem and Ian in our bedroom!

We talked as we walked about Westminster Council's decision to start charging for parking on its streets in the evenings. At the moment it's possible to drive into central London and park on any single yellow line from 6.30pm for free, which has always been good news for Theatreland - particularly musicians, who are able to drive in for late night gigs, which finish after the tubes have stopped running.  I'm not sure the council have been able to come up with a plausible explanation for their decision, so we can only assume it's simply another stealth tax and wonder what they'll try to charge us for next...

Hundreds of thousands of people have signed petitions to the council - all of which have fallen, unsurprisingly, on deaf ears. Complain these days and someone simply shrugs their shoulders and blames the recession. Successive governments strove to lower child poverty, improve our health system and educate the masses, yet now I hear MPs almost taking delight in saying that, within the next five years, all the good work could well have been undone. Sometimes I wonder how MPs would behave if the stakes were considerably higher - not for us, but for them! Mind you, I often find myself wondering, when watching the X Factor, particularly when someone says "she literally sang for for her life" what would happen if the loser each week was routinely taken away and ritually slaughtered! Then they literally WOULD be singing for their lives! 

350 years ago, and Pepys spent the day in bed with a "cataplasm" to his "codd." The jury is out when it comes to what this actually means, but it's bound to refer to the bruise he had on his testicles. A cod piece, of course, was named after the part of the anatomy it protected. 

Whilst Pepys was in bed, a number of his extended family came for lunch, and by all accounts had a very jolly time without him! 

I'm reminded of the birthday party of my friend Moira, who was so ill, she couldn't get out of bed. At one stage we all filed into her darkened room bearing gifts. I still remember her sad, confused, slightly-green face, peering out from underneath the covers whilst, for some reason, we all sang Away In A Manger!

I let the music speak

We've just been to see The Phantom of the Opera. I feel a little like Pepys with all these visits to theatres of late, but when many of your friends are actors, life can become a constant round of theatrical experiences (and not just ones on the stage!) 

Today was the turn of my lovely friend, Carmen, who was playing Carlotta, the operatic diva, in the musical. It feels rather odd to confess that I've never been to see Phantom before. Many of those huge shows from the 1980s passed me by during the dark years when I felt the need to claim that musical theatre was a lower art form!

I loved the show. It's so atmospheric and it was such a treat to see it. Carmen was extraordinary. It's such an extreme role, which requires an actress to honk like a goose before singing right up to top Es, which is the stuff of dream sequences. Any higher and only dogs would be able to hear her! I was immensely proud.

I was less proud of the orchestra, however, who sounded tired. They were all playing on auto-pilot and had obviously been "phoning in" their performances for way too many years. Apparently about 9 of them had been playing in the pit since the show started 25 years ago, which is just weird. Many of the string players sounded like they were playing instruments made out of knicker elastic. If I were Cameron Mackintosh, I'd go in there and sack the lot of them; bring in some younger players with a bit more life and better intonation! Old school musicians are not necessarily good musicians. Besides, why on earth would a decent musician WANT to play the same show for 25 years?

350 years ago, and Pepys, like me, went to the theatre... This time with Elizabeth, to celebrate their sixth wedding anniversary. They saw a play called The Traitor, which they enjoyed immensely. The King was also in the audience. It's interesting to note how accessible royalty must have seemed in those days. London was so much smaller...

Pepys returned home with Elizabeth, with the intention of getting jiggy, but an unfortunate a bruise on one of his testicles (no, I'm not making this up) prevented him from getting in the mood, as it were, so it was Horlicks all round. Okay, so I made that up. He probably had some kind of caudle before asking one of the maids to comb his hair!