The Simon Community - compassion without questions

This morning I went to Christine O'Mahoney's funeral. Christine was a cantankerous but kindly and much loved member of the Simon Community in London. Indeed, as one of the speakers at the funeral said, it still hurts to arrive at the Community's house and not to find Christine sitting on the steps, smoking, chatting and berating random - usually innocent - people. She was 87, a remarkable age, given a checkered past that had involved bereavement, alcoholism, estrangement from her family, and homelessness.

Having lost all contact with her own relatives, Christine found a new family in the Simon Community - and there were a good 50 people there this morning to pay tribute. It was one of those funerals where people laughed as much as they cried, and a tribute as much to the Simon Community as to Christine herself. Without those volunteers, she may well have ended up as one of the growing number of people dying alone, unfound for weeks or months at a time, in this supposedly developed, civilised nation.

London School of Economics - new building

To the LSE for a debate this evening - stunning building, all smooth surfaces and beautiful wood finishing.

Bad dream - what can it mean?

Not being 'in love with my job' shall we say, is causing sleepless nights, with Sundays particularly likely to see me bug-eyed and wide-awake into the small hours. An unusually early start today combined with a dose of liver salts aimed at righting an upset stomach added to the problem. So much so that I seemed to spend half the night having an unsettling and incomprehensible dream.

In a nutshell, we were driving up a really steep hill when the car started slipping backwards - rather embarrassingly, this is a real fear of mine. Somehow - and I don't remember the details - I managed to get out of the car. As did him indoors. Next thing we were walking towards a really beautiful, stark white house, of three or four storeys. I knew we were in Ireland, without knowing how I knew. We were in the countryside, there were trees and sheep around. Despite the beauty of the house, when I walked behind it was a very plain, red brick building - industrial in style. Oddly the shape of the back of the building didn't correspond with the front. For some reason I thought it was an asylum or something of that ilk.

Perhaps it's as well I woke up when I did. But what in god's name did that all mean?

Neil Hannon sings 'The Word Up'

Neil Hannon - what a hero. Found this during my Sunday online meanderings - a thing of absolute joy. 

Shamrock in Surrey ...

Had possibly my least Irish St Patrick's Day ever - but lo and behold, shamrock on sale in Dorking station. There's hope for Surrey yet!

Vintage French fire engine

Spotted this old French fire engine in Esher (Surrey), of all places. Poor photo, but a certain degree of trespassing was involved, as it was.

Review: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

Off to town yesterday for a matinee performance of the much lauded Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. A friend booked the tickets months ago - this was an eagerly awaited jaunt, spoilt only by the mid-week realisation that it clashed with the Ireland-France match (in retrospect, a good thing).

What to say? It was loooong. And as the culture snob in our group pointed out, I was not 'Wagner-trained', so three hours sitting on it left my backside a tad sore.
I found Adrian Lester, as the drunken ex football star Brick, disengaged (certainly for the first half of his performance) to the point of looking bored. Yes, he looked fantastic, but he just didn't looked particularly bothered. Perhaps this was him playing 'anguished and misunderstood'.

As Maggie, Sanaa Lathan was all outraged sulkiness - with a fantastic wardrobe. Sitting in the front row, I was in a great position to appreciate the series of fantastic cocktail frocks she brought out of her walk-in wardrobe. And the leather padded bar in the opposite corner was stunning. Perhaps my fascination with the set is an indication of how distracted I was.

James Earl Jones - Darth Vader to those of us of a certain age - was Big Daddy, with the girth required. His voice was every bit as booming as on screen - I don't think I imagined the reverberations - and the later scenes with Brick were touching.

Big Mama was played by Phylicia Rashad - or the Cosby Show's Clair Huxtable, the thought of whom, even 2 decades later, brought a twinkle to my brother's eye. Rashad is also a sister of Debbie Allen, the show's producer. She seemed to spend most of her time on stage bellowing, but I appreciate this may be down to the script, rather than any shortcomings in her own technique.

Did I enjoy it? Kind of. I didn't go away raving about, and it didn't occur to me to write about it until today - which really answers my own question.