Level of conviction in own genius: 6
Amount of creative activity achieved in last 24 hours: Nil
Hair day: As to be expected with lack of ANY KIND OF HAIR PRODUCT (faint)
Up in East Yorkshire, I am doing nothing. So far, the day’s activities have totalled: lie-in, shower, liberal application of every toiletry product of my mum’s I could lay my hands on (scrub, toner, eye gel, 3 different moisturisers etc), plundered the fridge (noting the plethora of cheeses to be tucked into later), read three Sunday Telegraph magazines, taken dogs for extremely sloth-paced stroll, read some of VERY BAD book based on blog of girl’s sexcapades (honestly,after the twentieth mention of ‘I really just want to eat some hot throbbing cock, wow I’m such a crazy slut!’ it gets a little yawnworthy) and made several unsuccessful attempts to crack some nuts (no, just the edible kind, the book had no effect). Tis sheer bliss.
Event of the week was undoubtedly the visit to The Valley to watch my plucky beloveds, Wycombe Wanderers, stand up to Premiership’s Charlton in the quarter-finals of the League Cup. So sure, it lacks the natural glamour of the sweet FA (but hell, we’ve done that one already, shrieking to the semis against Liverpool in 2001); however, there was nothing more exciting than joining the throng of blue-scarfed masses as we swept into the South Stand. It’s a lovely ground, and what with teetering terraces, luminous pitch and vast screens, was as exhilarating as a sight for us as the Neu Camp would be for most poxy Arsenal fans. It is so easy to slip back into being a football spectator (I can barely call myself a fan, what with approximately attendance at one live game a season): the £1.50 hot watery mud calling itself tea, worth it just to retain the feeling in your feet, spongy hot dogs, the shouting of abuse to the ref even when you know he’s right, the rituals of ‘shhh’-ing when it’s the opposition’s goal kick….. it sends me back to my season ticket days in an instant. And they were BRILL! Gnash-toothed little attack-dogs in the first half, finally grabbing a goal on 35 mins, then defending like the clappers for the second half, and hanging on just enough. Incredibly, the Wycombe end kept the noise up continuously for the 2nd half, which, while impressive, makes me wish they could come up with something more snappily creative, as chanting ‘CHAIRBOYS! BARMY ARMY!’ for 45 mins gets hilariously tedious. But we won, made all the back pages the next day and will greet either Arsenal/Liverpool, Chelsea or Spurs. Bring it on…
Gosh, it’s the end of the year. 2006, where did you go? I tend to think that this year has been an unhappy consolidation of reluctant teacherdom, but if I think about it, it hasn’t been too bad, seeing as I’ve (deep breath): been viva-d by Gavin Bryars and become a Doctor, had another choral piece published by OUP (1,500 copies sold!), moved to East London in Kerry-grows-up-and-cohabits-with-sexy-man-shocker, gigged with juice in Denmark, at Cargo, with Karl Jenkins, with an orchestra and done our first recording (for NMC), started a new band called DOLLYman, been heard on Radio 3 and Classic FM, been broadcast on Radio 4’s Today programme, BBC News 24 live and all other news stations with my memorial piece for the London bombings, had a massive premiere in York, started freelance roles in curating gigs, reviewing gigs and being a music workshop leader for Wigmore Hall, and, oh yeah, got engaged to my aforementioned sexy man, engaged to be married on a funky farm on 7/7/7.
Well, it is my favourite number. Bodes well, methinks…