MY SON, GOD

I'll explain that title in a moment.  First, the long drive back to London from Cheltenham, this time taking advantage of the motorways (our guidance system lady remembered only that we wanted to avoid them and we didn't know how to switch her off, so she kept trying to get us off the motorway at every exit along the way.)  London traffic was a challenge for this right-side-of-the-road driver, but we made our way--very slowly--back to the Knightsbridge Hotel, where the hotel staff called the car rental company to take possession of their property.  I was frankly relieved to see it go.

Arriving shortly afternoon, we had time to unpack everything--again! But for the last time on this trip--before heading out.  We'd thought that Harrod's, next door, would be a pleasant place for lunch, and did stop for an absurdly expensive sandwich there.  But we soon tired of the excess and luxury the place exudes, and, with enough of the afternoon left, decided to take the tube to Russell Square...

... and stop by at the British Museum...

... to see "Defining Beauty: The Body in Ancient Greek Art," an exhibition that appealed to my well-known, oft-reiterated interest in the human figure...

From the Museum website

Travel-weary as we are at this stage, we lacked the right energy and state of mind to take the best advantage of this stunning show, but, for myself, I was satisfied with the feast of spectacular achievement from so many years ago.


Now, for God.  We walked up to St. Pancras station...

... from the British Museum and caught a Thameslink slow train out to Radlett, where my son Matthew is taking part in a regional light opera company's performance of the little-known Children of God...

... the story of Genesis retold as a whimsical, inspirational musical.  Matthew's role is The Father--God Himself.  He has grown a beard for the occasion...

An odd feeling, seeing one's son play God and sing songs about the trials of fatherhood, though he has his own experience in this area.  Ellie and I both thought he did a fantastic job in this central role, managing to maintain a strong presence throughout, and singing his songs in a voice the surprised me with its power.  It was the first of several performances, and attracted a good crowd despite his fears to the contrary.  And the cast received a wonderfully enthusiastic response.  I always think it's odd to say you're "proud of" someone, as though you deserve some of the credit; instead, I'd rather say I was enormously proud for Matthew. (He told us afterwards that he'd badly screwed up some part of his first song, but I'd never have known...)

A late train back from Radlett into town, with a bright older woman, a theater buff, who'd seen the show and had enjoyed it.  She was impressed when I told her that I was the Father of God.  From St. Pancras, the Piccadilly line to Knightsbridge, where we arrived at our hotel well after midnight.