Today is one of those days that I wish I could have spent indoors. London has been engulfed by a gloomy, dank mizzle which seems intent on permeating every last fibre of my body. It doesn't help that I'm not feeling too good. General aches and pains, no doubt caused by the weather, but also slightly tender skin, coupled with the odd shooting pain coursing along the line of a nerve. I'm definitely doing too much.
I visited Abney Park in Stoke Newington this morning with my friend Penny. We're looking into the idea of premiering the requiem in a cemetery, and this is probably the most atmospheric graveyard in London.
It's one of The Magnificent Seven; a suite of mega-cemeteries built in early Victorian times as a response to the dangerous over-crowding in City churchyards. The most famous of The Magnificent Seven is probably Highgate. Others include Brompton and Kensal Green. They were built on the outskirts of the then city and are all filled with extraordinary tombs, catacombs, icons and monuments. The Victorians were nothing if not totally over-the-top when it came to responding to death.
Anyway, these days Abney is classed as a "closed" cemetery, which means no one can buy a plot there, even though burials still happen from time to time with those who purchased family plots some years ago. It's actually classed as a nature reserve, and is the home of many unusual species of birds, bats and fluffier creatures.
The people who run the place are refreshingly laid-back, and keen to get involved in our project. I think it would be the perfect back-drop for a Requiem, particularly as it looks like it might be possible to perform the piece at dusk by lantern light. Almost too exciting for words, I feel!
(There's a girl on the tube opposite with a bruise and bump on her head which is the size of an egg. She doesn't seem to be too bothered it, but it looks like an alien is about to crawl out of it...)
I went from Stoke Newington to Catford via the new, bright orange East London Line... Or is it the North London line? It's the new line which links Highbury in the North to New Cross and Croydon in the South, and its trains are remarkably wide, like barns on wheels... And totally empty!
I was rehearsing at Julie's house; an impromptu alto sectional, but as I staggered my way through the bleak south east London streets, I wondered why anyone would actually choose to live there. I called in at the post office and was confused to find that there were no envelopes for sale. There were no postcards either, or shelves collapsing under the weight of piles of stationery, like in our little post office up here in Highgate. The Catford post office is merely an enormous empty room, with a series of rather frightened-looking individuals skulking behind bullet-proof glass counters. All the envelopes and things were hidden behind the glass with the staff. I assume the sad truth is that anything displayed in front of the glass would be in danger of being nicked in an area like Catford.
350 years ago, Pepys ate his lunch in The Sun on Fish Street. He was thrilled with the food, commenting on "a pie of such pleasant variety of good things, as in all my life I never tasted." He loved his food. And his superlatives. And his strange uses of negatives to imply positives.
Monday, 14 November 2011
Sunday, 13 November 2011
The Green Chamber
Philip’s party last night was great fun. It was held at his friend, Sarah Loftus', who lives in a stunning house overlooking an enormous secret private garden. Hidden London is an endlessly fascinating place.
The theme of the party was old people, and everyone went to town on the costumes. It never ceases to amaze me how much money people seem to spend on fancy dress. Some people were even wearing fake prosthetics! Others remained in character for the entire evening, which felt incredibly tragic. I tried to ignore them. The weirdest creature was a 6’5” man, thinner than a pencil, dressed from top to toe in beige-coloured latex. He kept appearing in my peripheral vision like a sort of shiny cipher.
I was surprised by how many people I knew. Many had been at the midnight parade we organised after Philip was attacked in Soho. I was also pleased to see a whole set of my friends there who I hadn’t seen for a bit, including Matt, whose presence was particularly strange, because I’d dreamt about him the previous night.
Today featured an epic 6-hour choir rehearsal at our house. We got up early to make the place look nice and tidy, and to prepare food for 12 hungry singers. Rehearsals went well, but we only have two more sessions, and some of the choir have yet to join us. Fingers crossed they’ll have done their homework and will slot right in, so we don’t have to waste any more time note-bashing and can focus on finessing the sound we make, which is always the exciting bit.
350 years ago, Pepys and a crew of his colleagues went to wait on the Duke of York. They hung about in the duke’s bedroom whilst he put on a riding suit in preparation for a journey to sea. I think it’s really weird to want to sit and watch whilst someone puts clothes on. I’m surprised the Duke didn’t tell them all to sling their hooks, especially when they handed him a letter requesting more funds for the Navy. He said he’d look at it when he returned from his journey.
Pepys went to the theatre in the afternoon and then spent the evening worrying about how much he was spending on life’s great fripperies – like fancy clothes for his wife.
Maybe as a way of saving fuel bills, he decided to move his bed into “the little green chamber, where the maids lie.” It’s not clear why he decided to bunk in with the servants, wife and all... The servants weren’t too happy about the business either. Poor Nell, the maid with no known surname, was told if she didn’t put up and shut up, she’d have to sleep in a chair.
The theme of the party was old people, and everyone went to town on the costumes. It never ceases to amaze me how much money people seem to spend on fancy dress. Some people were even wearing fake prosthetics! Others remained in character for the entire evening, which felt incredibly tragic. I tried to ignore them. The weirdest creature was a 6’5” man, thinner than a pencil, dressed from top to toe in beige-coloured latex. He kept appearing in my peripheral vision like a sort of shiny cipher.
I was surprised by how many people I knew. Many had been at the midnight parade we organised after Philip was attacked in Soho. I was also pleased to see a whole set of my friends there who I hadn’t seen for a bit, including Matt, whose presence was particularly strange, because I’d dreamt about him the previous night.
Today featured an epic 6-hour choir rehearsal at our house. We got up early to make the place look nice and tidy, and to prepare food for 12 hungry singers. Rehearsals went well, but we only have two more sessions, and some of the choir have yet to join us. Fingers crossed they’ll have done their homework and will slot right in, so we don’t have to waste any more time note-bashing and can focus on finessing the sound we make, which is always the exciting bit.
350 years ago, Pepys and a crew of his colleagues went to wait on the Duke of York. They hung about in the duke’s bedroom whilst he put on a riding suit in preparation for a journey to sea. I think it’s really weird to want to sit and watch whilst someone puts clothes on. I’m surprised the Duke didn’t tell them all to sling their hooks, especially when they handed him a letter requesting more funds for the Navy. He said he’d look at it when he returned from his journey.
Pepys went to the theatre in the afternoon and then spent the evening worrying about how much he was spending on life’s great fripperies – like fancy clothes for his wife.
Maybe as a way of saving fuel bills, he decided to move his bed into “the little green chamber, where the maids lie.” It’s not clear why he decided to bunk in with the servants, wife and all... The servants weren’t too happy about the business either. Poor Nell, the maid with no known surname, was told if she didn’t put up and shut up, she’d have to sleep in a chair.
Saturday, 12 November 2011
Pong!
I looked at myself in the mirror yesterday and decided it was time to put the whooping cough behind me and get fit again. I don’t like being a big blob and am craving some facial definition, so I went running this morning. I ran to Finsbury Park and back along the Parkland Walk. I have to say, it didn’t feel very good – and I was particularly horrified to be overtaken by a fat girl... twice. I was also unfortunate enough to have run past a group of men from the council as they emptied dustbins designed for dog poo. I've seldom smelt a more disgusting pong and because I was taking great big unhealthy gulps of air as I ran, I got an absolute face full! Imagine doing that job for a living, and smelling that rancid stench all day long? I can’t imagine anything worse.
Unfortunately, I’ve had to work all day, formatting scores and things for the concert on the 27th. Nathan called me in the afternoon, and urged me to take an hour off before I went out this evening, more than anything else to put a bit of down time between a day of silence and an evening where I’ll be surrounded by loud people with rather large personalities. I’m going to Philip Sallon’s 60th birthday party. The theme is old aged pensioners, so I’m going as an undertaker, because I go to all fancy dress parties dressed in the same clothes. It will be lovely to see Philip, and celebrate such an important event, but I’m slightly worried I’m going to end up feeling a little bit like a plonker. I’m going on my own, which means I'll need to make small talk. I find meeting people for the first time cripplingly embarrassing, particularly if they’re constantly looking over their shoulders for more interesting people in the room. Still, I suppose if I get there and can’t shake off the agoraphobic tendencies, I can always come home and have a hot bath! Prematurely elderly? Me? That said, I do seem to have allowed my potatoes to boil dry for the past two nights running, so perhaps I’m actually going senile.
350 years ago, Pepys went to watch Ben Johnson’s Bartholomew Fair acted by puppets. He liked the play. He’d seen it many times before, but he didn’t like the puppets. I know how he felt. I’ve hated puppets ever since I was asked to improvise with a dirty sock with little eyes attached to it when I auditioned for a drama school in the mid 90s. A bohemian woman called Penny appeared in the room carrying a bucket full of puppets which she handed out to us all. Everyone else got something which resembled a proper puppet, but I was given the sock. I’m not an actor, I’m not an improviser and I’m certainly not a puppeteer, so the experience was one of abject humiliation. For some reason I pretended to be a giraffe and walked around trying to nibble the rest of the puppets from above like the reincarnation of emu. At one stage I nipped one of the other puppets so hard that one of its strings broke and its arm fell off and the girl operating it called me a bastard. I'm still not sure why someone applying for a director’s course in a drama school was expected to do that kind of rubbish, but there we go.
Pepys had raspberry wine and sausages for tea, which made him feel very merry, apparently.
Unfortunately, I’ve had to work all day, formatting scores and things for the concert on the 27th. Nathan called me in the afternoon, and urged me to take an hour off before I went out this evening, more than anything else to put a bit of down time between a day of silence and an evening where I’ll be surrounded by loud people with rather large personalities. I’m going to Philip Sallon’s 60th birthday party. The theme is old aged pensioners, so I’m going as an undertaker, because I go to all fancy dress parties dressed in the same clothes. It will be lovely to see Philip, and celebrate such an important event, but I’m slightly worried I’m going to end up feeling a little bit like a plonker. I’m going on my own, which means I'll need to make small talk. I find meeting people for the first time cripplingly embarrassing, particularly if they’re constantly looking over their shoulders for more interesting people in the room. Still, I suppose if I get there and can’t shake off the agoraphobic tendencies, I can always come home and have a hot bath! Prematurely elderly? Me? That said, I do seem to have allowed my potatoes to boil dry for the past two nights running, so perhaps I’m actually going senile.
350 years ago, Pepys went to watch Ben Johnson’s Bartholomew Fair acted by puppets. He liked the play. He’d seen it many times before, but he didn’t like the puppets. I know how he felt. I’ve hated puppets ever since I was asked to improvise with a dirty sock with little eyes attached to it when I auditioned for a drama school in the mid 90s. A bohemian woman called Penny appeared in the room carrying a bucket full of puppets which she handed out to us all. Everyone else got something which resembled a proper puppet, but I was given the sock. I’m not an actor, I’m not an improviser and I’m certainly not a puppeteer, so the experience was one of abject humiliation. For some reason I pretended to be a giraffe and walked around trying to nibble the rest of the puppets from above like the reincarnation of emu. At one stage I nipped one of the other puppets so hard that one of its strings broke and its arm fell off and the girl operating it called me a bastard. I'm still not sure why someone applying for a director’s course in a drama school was expected to do that kind of rubbish, but there we go.
Pepys had raspberry wine and sausages for tea, which made him feel very merry, apparently.
Friday, 11 November 2011
11.11.11.11.11
At 11am on 11.11.2011, Nathan and I switched the television on, and watched images of people in train stations, schools and various cenotaphs marking a two minutes' silence. The children in the school were delightful. One of them was playing "rock, paper, scissors" with herself. You can hardly blame her. When you're five, two seconds is a long time to stay sitting still! Every year, I vow to be standing somewhere more interesting when the clock strikes 11, but every year I forget. One year I was still asleep! I was particularly annoyed at myself on this occasion, however, because I like the notion of a palindromic date. I looked out of the window to see if anyone on the Archway Road had stopped what they were doing for a moment of private thought, and immediately called Nathan over in a rush of excitement; "the cars!" I shouted "they've all stopped in the street!" Nathan looked at me and rolled his eyes; "that's because the traffic light is on red!" #shameful.
The rest of the day was spent working – firstly in the cafe, and latterly at home on the kitchen table. We lost a tenor from the choir last night. I’d rehearsed him on his own, right at the start of the process, but then not heard anything from him. I kept texting and sending emails, but there was an eerie silence. Last night I decided he must have gone AWOL and sent a text saying; “I really shouldn’t have to chase you like this. Please can you let me know what’s going on?” Of course, I then received a stroppy email from him saying; “I don’t like your tone, and because of that, I’m going to pull out of your project," which was a disappointing response. Quite why he wasn’t brave enough to simply say he didn't want to be involved any more is anyone's guess. It's plain his radio silence was a product of his trying to think up an excuse, and I was annoyed to have provided him with one! There are far too few people in this world who are prepared to accept their own failings. Simply saying "no" or acknowledging that something isn't working is much fairer on everyone in the long term. Being left in the lurch with a quarter of the rehearsal time already gone is a very different experience from being left in the lurch two weeks before full-scale rehearsals have commenced when there's plenty of time to find a replacement. Still, we seem to have found a new tenor, so I guess all's well that ends well and I certainly don't want anyone to go through the hell of learning music that they just don't have the time to learn.
So, as of about 6pm this evening, I have a full complement of players and singers for the gig on the 27th. Fingers crossed that this glorious situation will continue. I'm counting down the days...
I rehearsed Carmen, the delicious top sop today, who was totally on the ball and seemed to know the music backwards... Well obviously not backwards. I once told a community choir they needed to know the work we were singing backwards, and someone actually asked if I meant they had to be able to sing it starting at the end...
November 11th, 1661, and Pepys called in on Lady Sandwich, to find his wife looking at different types of lace. Pepys had promised to buy her a length, and the two women were deciding which sort was the prettiest. The two women opted for something which cost a whopping 6l. (£600 in today's money!) Pepys pretended not to be shocked – but he was horrified.
Captain Ferrers, the rogue, took Pepys to his very first “gaming house” in the afternoon, which I assume was an early form of casino. It was in Lincoln’s Inn Fields and Pepys wrote that it was strange to see "the folly of men to lay and lose so much money, and very glad I was to see the manner of a gamester’s life, which I see is very miserable, and poor, and unmanly."
Ferrers, ever the man about town, then took Pepys to a dance school in Fleet Street, where they saw "a company of pretty girls dance." Pepys added that he didn't "like to have young girls exposed to so much vanity."
The rest of the day was spent working – firstly in the cafe, and latterly at home on the kitchen table. We lost a tenor from the choir last night. I’d rehearsed him on his own, right at the start of the process, but then not heard anything from him. I kept texting and sending emails, but there was an eerie silence. Last night I decided he must have gone AWOL and sent a text saying; “I really shouldn’t have to chase you like this. Please can you let me know what’s going on?” Of course, I then received a stroppy email from him saying; “I don’t like your tone, and because of that, I’m going to pull out of your project," which was a disappointing response. Quite why he wasn’t brave enough to simply say he didn't want to be involved any more is anyone's guess. It's plain his radio silence was a product of his trying to think up an excuse, and I was annoyed to have provided him with one! There are far too few people in this world who are prepared to accept their own failings. Simply saying "no" or acknowledging that something isn't working is much fairer on everyone in the long term. Being left in the lurch with a quarter of the rehearsal time already gone is a very different experience from being left in the lurch two weeks before full-scale rehearsals have commenced when there's plenty of time to find a replacement. Still, we seem to have found a new tenor, so I guess all's well that ends well and I certainly don't want anyone to go through the hell of learning music that they just don't have the time to learn.
So, as of about 6pm this evening, I have a full complement of players and singers for the gig on the 27th. Fingers crossed that this glorious situation will continue. I'm counting down the days...
I rehearsed Carmen, the delicious top sop today, who was totally on the ball and seemed to know the music backwards... Well obviously not backwards. I once told a community choir they needed to know the work we were singing backwards, and someone actually asked if I meant they had to be able to sing it starting at the end...
November 11th, 1661, and Pepys called in on Lady Sandwich, to find his wife looking at different types of lace. Pepys had promised to buy her a length, and the two women were deciding which sort was the prettiest. The two women opted for something which cost a whopping 6l. (£600 in today's money!) Pepys pretended not to be shocked – but he was horrified.
Captain Ferrers, the rogue, took Pepys to his very first “gaming house” in the afternoon, which I assume was an early form of casino. It was in Lincoln’s Inn Fields and Pepys wrote that it was strange to see "the folly of men to lay and lose so much money, and very glad I was to see the manner of a gamester’s life, which I see is very miserable, and poor, and unmanly."
Ferrers, ever the man about town, then took Pepys to a dance school in Fleet Street, where they saw "a company of pretty girls dance." Pepys added that he didn't "like to have young girls exposed to so much vanity."
Thursday, 10 November 2011
Go East!
Whichever route you pick, the journey down to Lewes is a horrible one, which is never less than three hours long, despite being less than 100 miles away from Highgate as the crow flies. You have three options. Either you go the most direct route, straight through the middle of central London where you risk getting caught in every traffic jam the world chooses to throw at you. Or you go West, past the infamous Hangar Lane gyratory and onto the hell of the M25 near Heathrow. Or you go East where you're likely to get stranded in the Blackwall tunnel approach. You’re basicially screwed whichever route you take, but my preferred option is always to go East. I don't really know why. Unbelievably, I was through the Blackwall Tunnel this morning like a dose of salts with a big smile plastered across my face... But then I hit the M25, where I ended up in stationary traffic for about half an hour. I took a fancy detour on a cross country route which snaked its way through Tonbridge and Tunbridge Wells, but with every town and village I drove through, the traffic seemed to get worse. For the final 5-mile stretch, I got caught behind a learner driver who was terrified to go faster than 30 miles per hour...
Anyway, I was in Lewes for three rehearsals; two with our pianist, Rachel, and one with our soloist, Hilary. Rachel teaches in a college in Lewes, so we had to split the session in half to work around her lessons. We were at university together and I’d forgotten what an astonishing pianist she is. She was pretty much sight-reading, but has an extraordinary musicality.
Hilary, similarly, is an exquisite singer, and I urged her today not to allow motherhood to take her away from performing forever. It was wonderful to see her and her brilliantly chubby baby, Jago. I’ve missed her over the last couple of months, and it was fabulous to get the opportunity to catch up. We had lunch in a cafe, and then took a walk through the sometimes-misty, sometimes-sunny autumnal streets of Lewes.
Sometime in the middle of all of this, I caught up with Mez for a quick mineral water in a pub by the station. Mez brought her little puppy, Berry, who is terribly cute. He or she (I think it’s a she) looks like a tiny little black and white mop, and did nothing but lick my fingers, and sit in a little heap on Mez’ lap like a glorified merkin!
Sunday 10th November, 1661, and Pepys heard Mr Mills preaching at St Olave’s Church before zipping down to the Wardrobe for lunch, where Lady Sandwich continued with her mission to get him to spend more money on his wife. Pepys was very troubled to discover that a fair number of people he associated with were dropping dead of dropsy, an old school name for excess amounts of water, usually in the legs.
Pepys went to the pub in the evening and ordered a couple of bottles of strong wine from the Canary Islands, which made him feel extremely ill (possibly read drunk), so much that evenings prayers in front of all his household staff, was a fairly excruciating experience!
Anyway, I was in Lewes for three rehearsals; two with our pianist, Rachel, and one with our soloist, Hilary. Rachel teaches in a college in Lewes, so we had to split the session in half to work around her lessons. We were at university together and I’d forgotten what an astonishing pianist she is. She was pretty much sight-reading, but has an extraordinary musicality.
Hilary, similarly, is an exquisite singer, and I urged her today not to allow motherhood to take her away from performing forever. It was wonderful to see her and her brilliantly chubby baby, Jago. I’ve missed her over the last couple of months, and it was fabulous to get the opportunity to catch up. We had lunch in a cafe, and then took a walk through the sometimes-misty, sometimes-sunny autumnal streets of Lewes.
Sometime in the middle of all of this, I caught up with Mez for a quick mineral water in a pub by the station. Mez brought her little puppy, Berry, who is terribly cute. He or she (I think it’s a she) looks like a tiny little black and white mop, and did nothing but lick my fingers, and sit in a little heap on Mez’ lap like a glorified merkin!
Sunday 10th November, 1661, and Pepys heard Mr Mills preaching at St Olave’s Church before zipping down to the Wardrobe for lunch, where Lady Sandwich continued with her mission to get him to spend more money on his wife. Pepys was very troubled to discover that a fair number of people he associated with were dropping dead of dropsy, an old school name for excess amounts of water, usually in the legs.
Pepys went to the pub in the evening and ordered a couple of bottles of strong wine from the Canary Islands, which made him feel extremely ill (possibly read drunk), so much that evenings prayers in front of all his household staff, was a fairly excruciating experience!
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
It's like magic
It's been another day of tiring rehearsals at Julie and Sam's house in Catford. The drive down here took me through Hackney and the Blackwall Tunnel and seemed to last forever. My back was aching by the time I pulled up outside their house.
We rehearsed with an orange and chocolate cake sitting on the table, which was obviously a very useful incentive, because everyone sang very beautifully. We were working largely on solo material, and I have to say that there are some extraordinary voices singing my music. I feel blessed. It's times like this I have to smile to myself at the thought that someone in the Lincolnshire choir actually wrote in a court document that I'd only wanted to work with them to have my ego massaged by the sound of a brilliant choir singing my music. Sadly, I never got to discover whether there was any truth in her claim, but I finally know how it feels to have my ego massaged by brilliant singers!
We've also just had a very lovely pasta dish for tea whilst watching reality TV, so all in all I'm feeling pretty good.
Pepys spent the afternoon and much of the evening with Lady Sandwich. They talked about many things, but Lady Sandwich put much effort into urging Pepys to lavish his wife with more gifts. Pepys took her point and resolved to treat Elizabeth to a bit of lace the next time he went shopping. Bless him! (I think...)
We rehearsed with an orange and chocolate cake sitting on the table, which was obviously a very useful incentive, because everyone sang very beautifully. We were working largely on solo material, and I have to say that there are some extraordinary voices singing my music. I feel blessed. It's times like this I have to smile to myself at the thought that someone in the Lincolnshire choir actually wrote in a court document that I'd only wanted to work with them to have my ego massaged by the sound of a brilliant choir singing my music. Sadly, I never got to discover whether there was any truth in her claim, but I finally know how it feels to have my ego massaged by brilliant singers!
We've also just had a very lovely pasta dish for tea whilst watching reality TV, so all in all I'm feeling pretty good.
Pepys spent the afternoon and much of the evening with Lady Sandwich. They talked about many things, but Lady Sandwich put much effort into urging Pepys to lavish his wife with more gifts. Pepys took her point and resolved to treat Elizabeth to a bit of lace the next time he went shopping. Bless him! (I think...)
Tuesday, 8 November 2011
Nellie takes her bow
I’ve spent the day very slowly working my way through an enormously long list of things to do. None of what I’m doing is particularly interesting, but it all needs to be done. I’ve created a mini list of things I need to do before I can settle down for the night, so this blog is going to be a short one...
I see that the pranny, Frankie Cocozza has been thrown off the X-Factor, for apparently “breaking the rules of the show.” I’m sure tomorrow’s red tops will be filled with sordid stories, but I’m just glad I don’t have to watch the berk strutting about any more. The very fact that I’m mentioning this extraordinarily dull occurance reminds me of quite how little I have to say today. I only hope that the show's producers will replace him with lovely little Jonnie, who was voted off on Saturday, much to my great chagrin, though God knows, I hardly bothered to vote.
The Roy Harper gig has received some lovely reviews in the press. A few of them said what wonderful musicians the band all were, but I can’t seem to find one of those for this blog, so you’ll have to make do with what the EveningStandard said.
Friday 8th November, 1661 found Pepys hanging out with Sir Edward Hyde, the Lord Chancellor. By all accounts the great man resembled a fish (my words, not Pepys’) but Pepys was just thrilled to be spoken to kindly by the great statesman and grandfather of two future monarchs.
Pepys spent the rest of the day dining, drinking copiously and searching for a clerk who would draw up yet another set of papers pertaining to Uncle Robert’s will. Dull dull dull.
I see that the pranny, Frankie Cocozza has been thrown off the X-Factor, for apparently “breaking the rules of the show.” I’m sure tomorrow’s red tops will be filled with sordid stories, but I’m just glad I don’t have to watch the berk strutting about any more. The very fact that I’m mentioning this extraordinarily dull occurance reminds me of quite how little I have to say today. I only hope that the show's producers will replace him with lovely little Jonnie, who was voted off on Saturday, much to my great chagrin, though God knows, I hardly bothered to vote.
The Roy Harper gig has received some lovely reviews in the press. A few of them said what wonderful musicians the band all were, but I can’t seem to find one of those for this blog, so you’ll have to make do with what the EveningStandard said.
Friday 8th November, 1661 found Pepys hanging out with Sir Edward Hyde, the Lord Chancellor. By all accounts the great man resembled a fish (my words, not Pepys’) but Pepys was just thrilled to be spoken to kindly by the great statesman and grandfather of two future monarchs.
Pepys spent the rest of the day dining, drinking copiously and searching for a clerk who would draw up yet another set of papers pertaining to Uncle Robert’s will. Dull dull dull.
Prannie
Ooh, I had a lovely piece of cod for tea...
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