Spend the morning finding invoices and stuff for the Vat period. Very, very dull. Work a bit on editing the pod casts that I recorded with Sid Smith and finishing the credits and thanks yous for the final artwork session with Phil on Thursday.

Danny Thompson phoned asking me if I would be up for creating the music with him for another TV series that our mutual pal Jim Cronin is making about his Monkey sanctuary in Dorset ‘Monkey World’.

As I write this I await the arrival of Ben Darlow. I want to change a couple of things on the final masters.

Hardly a week, indeed day, goes by without Sid mentioning, in passing, that I haven’t updated my blog in ages. Indeed. It’s like home work. I really don’t know how people manage to write this stuff on a daily basis. I’m just too busy. Up early, bed late and continually Knackered. So, I apologise, but then this is one of the reasons I stopped last time.

It has been much quieter this past week. Following the arrests it is clear that bail was not forthcoming. Dealing is still going on, but the end of this nightmare is getting closer. Or so the Police tell me.

Yesterday, more importantly Watford were promoted to the Premiership having been favourites to be relegated. I’ve been waiting for this to happen before calling Richard Barbieri. He’s a Millwall fan and they’ve been relegated. Delayed smugness is so much more enjoyable.

Spend a lovely afternoon in St Albans with the splendid Phil Smee. It’s one of the treats about making a record that I get to spend time in Phil’s company putting the sleeve together. Later that day he sends me a PDF. It looks fantastic I think. I just have to finish the copious notes that I have decided to cram the booklet with.

Spend the day with Ben Darlow Mastering the album, at last. I pop out for some tea and come back to find Ben in tears. I’m concerned as I know his wife is expecting and due every soon. Turns out he’s just listened to ‘When we go Home for the first time’ In the evening I take a copy of the record and listen to some of it at Chris Porter’s studio. He too was reduced to tears by the same track. I’m only surprised that something so personal to myself would touch others on some slightly different level.

I am in the kitchen at about 7:30 when Amanda comes in and asks if I’ve seen what going on outside. There are around 15 Police officers next door. At first we assume it’s the eviction, but it’s not. Two members of the household are arrested along with one of the dogs. The Police won’t tell us what it’s for, but it is obviously serious. I think it may be related to their cousin’s arrest earlier on this year for a series of serious sexual offences, but I’m only guessing.

I go back to the kitchen, only to hear some screaming and crying from the front of the house. The brother of the arrested boys is screaming horrendous abuse at the house right outside the front room window. It’s directed at me.

He seems to think I had something to do with the arrests, which I obviously didn’t, the trouble is the only person in the front room hearing all this is Django. He is sobbing with fear and very frightened. Through his tears he asks why the man is shouting at him.

I can’t tell you how upsetting this was. I resist the urge to go outside and confront this idiot who has been abusing me for weeks. It wouldn’t be sensible and Django is upset enough as it is.

It wouldn’t help him to see his father beaten up by a 15 year old.

I call the police who quieten them down. On my return from dropping the kids off the abuse continues and I call the police again. They tell me they can arrest him there and then, but I don’t want to up the ante as I have no idea whether the others will be back if they are released on bail.

We applied to a local school, as Django will be starting is education in September, about 7 months ago. They have only just written to confirm his place. We then have just a matter of days to confirm back that we still want it for him. I forget and the deadline is today.

So I fill in the form and drive to the council offices to drop the letter in. A very nice lady at reception suggests that I visit the portacabin offices on the other side of the road as that is the actual department. I enter the makeshift office. It’s small and there are a couple of people waiting. I take my letter and am about to drop in on the desk when a very large officious woman with a sneer for an expression says ’You have to have a ticket’

‘A what?’

‘A ticket, a number’ She hands me one of those pointy tickets with a number on that you get at the delicatessen counter at the local supermarket.

‘No I’m only dropping a letter off; I don’t need to see anyone’

‘You still need a number’

‘But I’m just dropping off a letter’

‘There are others waiting, you need a ticket’

This, being obviously bollocks, I ignore and drop the letter on the table.

‘I will not let them have that letter unless you take a ticket’

Had this not been about my son’s future I would have told them were to stick it. However I take a ticket and, somewhat theatrically, sit there holding it up in the air.

After about 3 minutes another woman, sitting behind the desk, says’ Next!’

I deliberately refuse to move. Again she says ‘Next’’ and again I just sit there holding up my ticket until the ticket dispensing Nazi says, with a deal of exasperation, ‘you, it is you!’

I slowly turn to her, ticket still held aloft and say slowly, and a little too loudly’ Are you sure it’s my turn? Only NO ONE has called my NUMBER!

I wonder what this woman’s job description is and how much she gets paid?

I receive an e-mail from Nigel Planer, who I haven’t seen or spoken to in years. It’s nice to hear from him and We exchange e-mails. I send him some stuff and he sends me a couple of novels he’s written. We arrange to meet up, at least at some point soon. He’s been spending a lot of time doing musical theatre. He was in Queen’s ‘We will rock you’ for 2 years and is about to appear in ‘Wizard’ in it’s west end transfer from Broadway.