Half-French, half-English singer Alison Moyet was the catalyst for our first trip back to our former hometown of Brighton earlier this month. Now I’m here for the second time in 2 weeks.
We went to Brighton to see Ms Moyet perform in concert at the Dome.
Although I was a big fan of her work with Yazoo in the early 1980s and then as a solo artist, I had no idea she was half-French. It turns out her father was French and her mother English.
I only realised when she released the album The Voice in 2004. It included several tracks in French, including her take on Jacques Brel’s La Chanson des Vieux Amants.
She didn’t play any of her French material at the show, though she did talk about her parents. Her mother died last year and had suffered from Alzheimer’s. Apparently, her mum was a punctuation pedant and a Francophile.
No matter what else she forgot, she always knew when an accent had been used wrongly.
Moyet is now a supporter of the Alzheimer’s Society and took part in the same 10km fundraising walk in Brighton that Damon and I did last year. Damon’s father suffered from Alzheimer’s in his later years too.
It was a bit strange to be back in Brighton. I felt almost like a tourist.
We stayed with our friends Martin and Trevor. I’m was back with them again last night, as I have an appointment with my GP this morning about my Bell’s Palsy. I’m feeling better in myself, though my smile is still wonky and I can’t blink with my left eye.
I’m still cling-filming my left eye shut at night – which isn’t as easy as it may sound.
“Tonight I’m off to the Dorchester on London’s Park Lane for the company’s annual black-tie customer awards evening”
I haven’t been back to our old house while I’m in Brighton, though I did drive past. The lettings agents sent us photos recently of how the tenants are treating it, so I already know the grim truth.
There are mattresses on the bedroom floors, recycling bins overflowing in front of the house and umpteen full ashtrays in the garden. It’s not my place to dictate how other people live, so we’ve said nothing.
As long as they pay their rent and don’t trash the place, we’ll leave them to it.
Tonight I’m off to the Dorchester on London’s Park Lane for the company’s annual black-tie customer awards evening. Nadia Sawalha is our celerity host.
My role is to take her around, introduce her to other guests and make sure everyone who would like a photo with her gets one. I’m like her pimp for the evening, frankly.
I’ve also had the film made that holds the whole evening together. As long as my Bell’s Palsy doesn’t leave me dribbling red wine down my dress shirt, I’m sure all will be well.