I spent yesterday afternoon at Reece Shearsmith’s surprisingly leafy and sunny place watching the entire series of Psychoville. It’s extremely good – I’m sure fans of The League will be delighted. The performances are excellent and the writing absolutely spot-on. I really loved it. In particular don’t miss the fourth episode.

I brought biscuits, crisps and sandwiches for us, and left feeling like a fat pig.

This picture shows us in his magic den. He has in there a formidable collection of old books on spiritualism which he beat me to in an auction a while back. I covet them, and can’t believe I let them go. I think I hate him for that.

Last night, with the passing of Jackson, was one of those ‘I remember where I was’ moments. I found out at stage door, from some friends, and there was much discussion over post-show dinner. It is added to my list: Diana’s death happened when I was getting ready to go to London to attend the Bandler/McKenna NLP course. 9/11 was sat in an LA hotel room glued to the set. Those moments are somehow inextricably linked to mundane surroundings, as if everything becomes a little heightened at those times.

And lets have a little moment for Farah Fawcett too. I remember what I was doing then: I was online reading about Michael Jackson’s death.