38,006 Feet

Can’t recall ever dropping a note here from this altitude, but the world continues to be wondrous.  An extraordinary three weeks, capped off by the mad dash to the Young Vic from the Red Lion to beat the curtain by seconds.  The Chablis by the Thames from the Founders bench was sublime, and I enjoyed exchanging the last 5 pound note for tissues on the subway to Heathrow.  

Brighton checked the box, but confirms the joy and necessity in experiencing those with friends.  The absurdity of the Tony Adams sighting, as well as the joy of Anything Goes and enjoyment of Ulyatt’s Pie and Pinots made for a great finish to the last weekend.  The Cherry Orchard a woefully miscast disaster, improved by the commentary immediately behind.  Here’s hoping the reviews do it Justice.

Cush a little hard done by, although the critics have their points.  Nothing compares to that original Brannagh, and that’s another chance gone unfortunately begging.  Oh well. To think it was 2019 when the plan was hatched.  And now, 10 weeks and 3 days of a prune showing signs of movements in the Southern Hemisphere, no doubt to the disbelief of the kid behind that booking.  The last of the immediate stresses involve procurement of the sacred card, but surely we will not be denied at the last.  Processing processing.  

Excitement building for the reveal on the YUL layover tonight and then over Thanksgiving.  Hard to imagine all that has happened, and what is to come.  Rolling right along with it with special providence.  As you do.