MICHAEL BOLTON

So for most of the afternoon, I couldn't stop imagining Michael Bolton grabbing the air in a fist and pulling it towards himself while singing "I'm not as bad as Hitler..." as a power ballad. I wrote back to David and told him that he might just be a genius.

It turned out that my manager had actually thought that I had asked him whether he'd be around for the next hour, and he had said yes to mean that yes he would, rather than yes, I needed to be - which was how I understood it. So I missed the stress workshop for nothing! Apparently though, there wasn't much that we wouldn't have known before - sleep well, eat well, don't worry about stuff, take deep breaths, etc. Just like Sharon from Slimming World, the stress guy almost certainly had things to sell and a well-considered pitch. It would have been interesting though.

I mentioned it to Winners on Skype. He told me it was OK because he didn't think I needed a stress workshop. See, the chilled-out coolness is already having an effect! I didn't tell him that the stress monitor card on my desk was glowing green like the Hulk, after I pressed it.

I went home, helped my Mum clear up the pie she'd been throwing around the kitchen and then dashed out to the choir team meeting at The Volunteer. Half a pepsi, a pint of Blackthorn cider and a lemonade stood on beer mats in the middle of the varnished table as we chatted about choir.

"So how do you feel it's going?" I asked, in a carefully-rehearsed, casual fashion. Simon and Lindsay both told me in their own ways, that they felt the choir had lost a bit of momentum. I picked up their disappointment and we unpicked it for a while. I'm not too good at turning disappointment around, especially when I feel the same, but I tried to encourage all of us to make the most of what we've got, to make choir a really fun, exceptional experience for the people who are part of it. Sometimes, I thought, you've got to preach to yourself. Then, I heard myself say, everything else will change with it.

I wonder what happened to Michael Bolton. I remember him singing soulfully, looking out to sea, belting out his gravelly baritone ballads to the waves while they raced towards him. He'd pour out his manufactured broken-heart while the strings soared and the drums kicked in. He always seemed rather lonely, standing there on the beach with his long tied-back hair. I hope he got a bit less croony.

Is that how people see me? I ask myself. I don't always feel like that these days, but it wouldn't be a surprise if that were the perception of me out there. I hope not though. There's only so long you can sing to the waves in your 80s jeans and your sports jacket, dreaming about the love you lost or never had, or never will have... eventually you become a bit too melancholy to be any fun to be around, and that only makes it worse. You have to make the most of what you have got, and be thankful for it - making your life really fun and an exceptional experience for the people who are part of it. Don't let's be Michael Bolton.

That's what I'm telling myself.