I hope my manager doesn't ring me up tomorrow because I'll be slurring my words. If I ever know he's going to ring me and I've over indulged the night before, I practice singing my scales beforehand so that my voice doesn't sound too croaky. I've been putting the world to rights again, with the old man, David, on the Arboretum, today. He's a feisty soul. He gets wound up about Boris Johnson. He hates him. It's personal. He said he'd happily see him dead. He's been through a lot in his life and he has epilepsy.