I should have stayed in last night and obsessively repacked my festival stuff, but for once I did the smart thing and actually went out.

I went to Norwich to see Julian Clary who was playing at the Playhouse as a warm-up date for his autumn tour. He has become something of a national treasure in recent years, age has given him a strange kind of respectability, so it was sold out, although the audience seemed to be more straight than gay.

He took to the stage on rollerblades then got a handsome man from the front row to help him take them off and put on his sparkly-toed plimsolls instead. A good start. The first half is really just a recap of his recent life - turning 50, settling down, doing Strictly Come Dancing. He was nervous and some of the jokes didn't work, and it was very interesting to see how the really filthy gay sex jokes split the audience - suddenly all you could hear were gay men laughing.

He took to the stage for the second half dressed as a ringmaster and pretended he was psychic. This was just an excuse to get the audience involved, which is what he's best at. He went through a woman's handbag - an old trick of his that always works - and ended up with two straight men on stage competing to see who was the most psychic. He pickled cleverly as one of them was really sweet and endearing and by the time he got him to lift his shirt so he could put a chocolate in his belly button I can't have been the only person who fancied him a little.

So a fun night out! Now I must try and sort out some last minute festival stuff. I need a torch. I need more sweets. I think I need more alcohol. And magazines. And some good weather - cross your fingers for me! Back Monday - have a good weekend! xx

So that's me finished work for the week - thank God!

Now it's time to prepare for the weekend's festivalling. There's a pile of stuff forming in the living room although I seem to have drawn a blank on the clothes front. Will one pair of walking boots do? Things are far more organised on the food front - we have cake!



Quite whether it will last until tomorrow is another matter...

On Thursday I'm festivalling, so it's time to make some preparations. But I've done enough festivals to have the tent/sleeping bag/wellingtons side of things covered so naturally the next thing to plan is food!

This means I've spent the whole evening in the kitchen, which explains why it looks such a wreck! The chocolate cake looks great, but the gin & tonic jelly may be a complete and utter disaster - let's hope not as it would be a shocking waste of gin!

Tomorrow I must find the sleeping bag. And the wellingtons, because the weather forecast isn't promising. Bugger.

There's so much to tell you about yesterday that I'm scared to start in case I can't stop! You might want to come back tomorrow if you're easily bored....

So yesterday I went to Manchester, for the afternoon, to see Rufus Wainwright's new opera. You know what I'm like with Rufus: he's a genius and can do know wrong, and there are no lengths I won't go to to keep up with him: London, Chelmsford, New York - so Manchester was a breeze!

Except it wasn't really - it's a bit tricky to get to! Obviously driving was of no interest me which meant the train. I could have got a cross county train locally but it arrived fifteen minutes before the show started, and I've travelled on enough trains to know that was a pretty stupid risk to take! So instead I got the train to London, then another directly to Manchester. But because I had no idea what time I'd get back to London and didn't know if there would be a connection all the way home I drove to Cambridge and went to London from there. Madness!

The journey from London to Manchester was on a Virgin train, who aren't that well liked but I had a good experience with them, which just goes to show the poor trains I've had to endure locally. Their trains are rather fabulously named pendolino and tilt as they speed through the country, although to be honest they didn't seem that high speed. I had a seat in a quiet coach which was a blessing, and we arrived ten minutes early, which is something I'm not used to at all.

From the station I went straight to the theatre, because there wasn't much time to do much else. It was only a short walk but it was long enough to spot some things I was expecting from Manchester: big grand civic buildings, lots of new apartments, and a drunken transvestite stumbling down the road in high heels. Thank you Manchester!

In truth I've never been that interested in going to Manchester. Yes it might be the home of Morrissey, New Order and Queer as Folk but it also the home of The Happy Mondays, drugs, guns and hen parties on Canal Street. Add to that a particular kind of arrogance and you can see why I'd never been. Well perhaps it's time to give it a go after all.

As I stood outside the theatre taking in the sights and wondering why the audience comprised almost entirely of middle-aged women and very few gay men, who should come walking up the street but Rufus's sister Martha - pink trousers, blonde hair and sunglasses even though it wasn't sunny - and their mother - grey hair, long skirt, big bad. An exciting start to the show!

The theatre was old and grand, and I was up in the circle. Strangely I'd bought a cheap seat, which seemed silly considering the lengths I was going through to get there! I did the same when I saw him at Carnegie Hall - I wonder if subconsciously I thought I'd never go so was minimising the money I might waste? It was only half full, which is ridiculous as there are only five performances and there's nowhere else to see it in the UK this year. Clearly Rufus isn't as popular as he'd like to think.

And so to the opera. It's about an opera singer who used to be incredibly famous but then lost her voice. It takes place on the day she announces her comeback, although inevitably it doesn't go to plan.

There's only a small cast: the opera singer, her butler, a maid, a footman, a journalist and the journalist's girlfriend. The butler is overbearing and controlling, and thinks he runs the singer's life. The footman is his accomplice/boyfriend. The maid is new and doesn't like the way the opera singer is treated. The journalist is more of a fan, who breaks the opera singer's heart. And the opera singer is frightened she will never sing again.

And the music? Well I don't really know opera, so I've no idea whether it was good or bad. The music was pretty, sometimes romantic, and certainly sounded lovely when played by a 70 piece orchestra, but to be honest the first half was a little short on tunes. The second half made up for it though!

The thing I don't really get are the voices. A soprano voice is a really strange thing to listen to, it's not a natural sound and whilst it sounds great it isn't that easy to listen to. The words were in French which made it easier although at the same time there were subtitles - although they insist on calling them surtitles in the theatre - which only showed up how banal some of the words were.

I think basically my problem is that I can't see the point of opera: telling stories with song? It's a musical! Except it's more difficult than that. Unnecessarily so! When musicals as great as Wicked or Billy Elliott can move you to tears and tell stories with drama and humour why would you attempt to do the same with high voices and strange songs?

Having said all that I did enjoy it. The story worked well, the cast were great, the set was amazing and of course it was Rufus! And guess who turned up to take a bow? The man himself, dressed in a top hat and sandals!

So was it worth spending three times more time on trains than in the theatre? Of course it was, although to be honest I wouldn't do such a ridiculous day trip again. And although I'd definitely go to Manchester again next time I want to take some company with me.

Last night I went to Jan & Barry's to do a little planning for next weekend's festival, which basically boiled down to:

Me: I'll bake a cake!
Barry: Let's leave at 12.
Jan: I've bought fairy lights!
Barry: More alcohol anyone?

We've done these things often enough to know what we're doing, it'll be fab! Please God let it be dry!

Barry's friend Mick was visiting as well, so it was nice to see him. Jan & Barry cooked, and although Jan insisted it was a bit of a dog's dinner they'd just drunkenly thrown together it was inevitably restaurant standard food: belly pork with the most fabulous crackling! Pavlova with a fantastic meringue! I drank too much, ate too much, laughed a lot and stumbled home in the rain. It was a great way to spend the evening - lovely to see you all! xxx

And now I'm off to Manchester!