End of June: lunch at the Express Newspaper building, Lower Thames Street, in the exec. suite of proprietor and erstwhile drummer Richard Desmond, with Sunday Express editor Martin Townshend. Martin was a rock music writer way back and our paths had crossed, fleetingly and impersonally, several times over the years. Martin wonders whether I might have a topic to write on for his paper. I feel flattered, being offered the chance to be a hack once more. Trouble is, while I feel strongly about many issues, I wonder whether airing it all in public is a good idea. To the Barbican later for the Scottish National Theatre Company's "Black Watch". A stupendous, emotional piece. Power all over the stage. Real power from pretend soldiers. Hard to accept at times that they are actors. Iraq and back. Bad life. Brilliant play. Faultless production. Billy Sloan recommended it to me, and he is clearly a good judge, as he also thought the Abba musical rubbish! That's my kind of pal.

Don't ask how (contacts, of course!), but I watched the Silverstone Grand Prix from the pit lane, with my son. Not the best view of the course,but then I don't think there's one half-decent seat among the 90,000 on offer. Every spectator spends 97.9 per cent of the race craning to single out each car via big screens. Daft, really, following F1, so how come it's so popular? Took refuge from drizzle in the Red Bull hospitality building; met the Backbeat Beatles, the tribute band that played a few dates with us a couple of years ago. Good fellas, and not ashamed to be seen all day in their outfits. They were due to play later at a corporate bash. They do The Fabs well enough, but a right-handed bass-player...? Yeh, yeh, yeh.

Can't get enough of theatre these days. To The Coliseum for the English National Opera's "Candide". Closest I've come to opera to date, to be honest. I admire the arias, on record. But 4 hours of poor acting in grotesque make-up has never struck me as serious entertainment. I always feared I'd laugh at all the wrong bits, or titter at times of deep significance. "Candide" is quite light, rather G & S, a comic operetta, and the cast and chorus (I counted 50+) are top pros. First-rate singing (what a change, Ruthie Henshall apart, for the West End these days), and sets clearly inspired at least in part with the help of an old-fashioned budget. And a full orchestra in the pit, made up of fine classical and jazz players. Music by Leonard Bernstein, lyrics by Richard Wilbur, with additional lyrics by, wait for it, Stephen Sondheim, Lillian Hellman and Dorothy Parker. What's a good reason not to go? There isn't one.
And just when I thought it was all over, back on stage with the band at Bilston. Anyone who comes there knows Bilston rocks. Downed a pint of Guinness in one hit (someone's got it up on YouTube), a gift from a punter at my feet. It's a trick, and being a singer (considering all that entails in terms of exercises and breathing) is a help. Don't try this it home. Played half-hour of encores, I'm told. Just kept it coming. I could have sung all night.
And then the pouring rain of Burgherzheim, near Frankfurt, Germany. We got soaked, and we were under cover - partly! 10,000 paying guests got drenched to the skin. But we got through, with roadies running about the apron with brooms and cloths, trying vainly, it has to be admitted, to protect the foot pedals. The Wickens electronic-pedal ensemble took a soaking, I hear. Storms after us. The Waterboys had to wait ages to get on, as the stage was swept, dried, re-swept and dried again. Spoke earlier to Mike Scott and he's given me details on a desolate hideaway way up in The Highlands, where inspiration may be garnered. I will try it. I need a shot in the arm, and The Highlands need exploring.

End July: they wear their rucksacks containing the daily provisions on their chests now in Barcelona. Great city, but blighted by Gypsy terrors with low moral standards. A basic mugging is bad enough, but using babes in arms as the accomplice, that's unforgivable. But the Sagria Famiglia, the Gaudi cathedral, continues to grow into its own unspeakable beauty, a shell poetic, an interior divine. Met with Spanish record company, and something is in the air.

Back to more theatre: "West Side Story" as devised by the American tour itself, at Sadlers Wells. Here is dancing of the highest quality, and here is performance beyond conventional criticism. Sitting there, feeling privileged, feeling sated with art and music...only good feelings. Came home and re-read Romeo And Juliet. Brought tears, as ever.

August 14: paid first visit to artist and good mate Paul Horton's studio. Three days to go to his 60 piece exhibition. This is a room to drool over. The colour and calm surrounding me are gently and inexorably overwhelming. "Onward And Upward" hangs in its original glory. "Sea Of Love," Paul's latest limited print, is possibly his best ever work. I would have been in the market for the original had I known. How satisfying it must be for an artist to know he continues to improve and develop. Some of us fear the barren patch has lasted just a little too long for comfort. As I said, The Highlands beckon.
Bought a fine 2-year-old race horse. Came over to Newmarket, to be trained by Jeff Pearce, and we've name him Land Hawk. Go to the Racing Post site and look him up. Then watch for the entries and take proper note. Running debut at Warwick, all being well, this Thursday, September 4th. Won't get hit by jockey Jimmy Quinn, and may not win, but his day will come another day. He's good. Been up at dawn to get to the Gallops several times recently, and I have watched his progress. The professionals are excited. I am hopeful. Maybe the Guineas next May? Chasing the dream, chasing the dream.
Weyfest coming up. Set-list? They all keep asking, but deep down I think they trust me - and one another, which is probably more important. We are steaming, and I just hope the rain stays away. We cope; we all cope, us and them. But dry and mild is better.

SH