London - Pods, Poets, Puppets, Paddy and Portraits
I was picked up by taxi by a guy named Lee and we talked the whole way to the train station at Bodmin Parkway. There is a bit of innocence and unjadedness in so many of the people I have encountered on this trip. He has a seemingly fantastic life - just buying a house in Brittany, also just returning from a vacation with family in Greece, and working as a baker and taxi driver. We were talking about biking and he is a serious athlete, often training by biking up these very steep hills in Bodmin.
The train was full and the seats were very hard, but I was able to get some sleep and a man with his family was very kind in helping me lift my heavy suitcase into the overhead rack and then back down in London. From Paddington Station I followed the Elizabeth Line to Tottenham Court Road where I walked the twenty minutes to the Z Hotel in Kingsway, always trying to remember to look right at all the road crossings.
Z Hotel was a perfect spot for the two nights in London and I discovered they have a few more locations in London that are fairly centrally located, so if I go back I would definitely stay in one again. It was my first time staying in a hotel “pod” where everything fits like a lego set into the smallest square footage needed. Since I was traveling so light it felt perfectly coccoonlike and comfortable with the minisplit keeping the room fairly cool and a fantastic shower and and spot on the wall to hang clothes and my hat.
I decided for my first evening in the city to go see Operation Mincemeat at The Fortune theater, about a 10 minute walk from the hotel and right on the edge of Covent Garden. I had dinner around the corner at an outside table of a Vietname Fusion restaurant which was delicious, and then walked a bit around Covent Garden before heading to the theater. I saw a very intent man stooped over a typewriter sitting in the middle of the cobblestone path thronged with people walking by and realized he was offering on-the-spot poems for anything you wanted to pay him (card swiper handily next to him). I couldn’t resist and asked him if he could write me a poem about the feeling in August, leaving it very open-ended to his interpretation. This is what he wrote:
After paying him 3 pounds I wandered over to the theater and discovered that my seat was at the top of the last row in the theater in a “nosebleed” seat par excellence where the dropoff below reminded me of the vertiginous Cornwall cliff experience. There was a wonderful woman next to me with her family who was so warm and looked like Taylor Swift, and we chatted before the show started which distracted me from the sense of falling forward. After a while I noticed a couple leaning against the railings behind our heads wearing N95 masks and coughing and I started to get anxious with the heat and the potential covid exposure right behind me that I busted a move during intermission to the lower part of the section in an unused seat where it was much cooler and I could focus on the very fast (too fast) song deliver and dialogue. I felt as if I was missing about half of the information which could have been just being tired, having it be too loud for me to hear well, not really wanting to understand everything, the British accents, or all of the above.
I went back to the hotel and slept pretty well, although note for next time, the pillows are basically full of flattened towels (or so it seemd), so it would be worthwhile to buy a pillow over there for a longer stay.
In the morning I had the hotel breakfast and launched off into the streets with my backpack full of sketching supplies (which I never used while in London but gave me a sense of artistic possibility) and headed towards Leicester Square to buy cheap tickets for Avenue Q, a last minute decision when faced with a selection of amazing theater options. The ticket place was right outside the National Portrait Gallery which was one of my main destinations for the two days I was in London and I was so fascinated by the portraits I saw there, mainly contemporary painters’ portraits. Because the gallery holds so many portraits, I couldn’t focus on more than the contemporary ones and a few of the Singer Sargent’s and others (self-portraits) by women I had never heard of.
You can always tell a painter by the people up close to the paintings taking photos of specific parts of a painting, and so I discovered another painter there on my second day there who was doing what I was doing. We both gushed about a particular portrait of an artist’s son and the colors in his skin and the feel of his gaze. Prepare for a deep dive of visuals here showing texture, brush work, compositional innovation…
It is so wonderful that the National Portrait Gallery is free admission and I knew I would go back either later that afternoon or the next day to see more of the contemporary portraits. I met Ruth and Robert for lunch in the pub across the street and found them upstairs and looking in fine form. The closer I get to my 80’s the more I admire and notice people in their 80’s and how they handle life. It is so beautiful having a history with people that goes back to childhood and I’ve known Ruth and Robert that long but more as an adult since I have often stayed with them when I’m in London. We talked a lot about their new cat, Karla, who they said came with the name Kala, which is some sort of deity that “was a great demonic giant whose horrible, mouthed visage covered doors and portals in templres and shrines for thousands of years in East Asia.” That explains why they added an r to call her Karla :) Then we said warm goodbyes which are always a bit tinged with (will I ever see you again) as people age and random things happen and our world is on fire, but I know they are there to call anytime and they love my Mom and it helps to know they are in sharp mind and looking happy.
After lunch I wandered over to Southbank to explore some of the art studios there and the scene near the National Theater. On the way I stopped into St. Martin’s in the fields and looked at the organ from below. En route to the bridge Southbank, I walked through a parched garden where there was some sort of dance party going on to 80’s pop and I passed the statue to Arthur Sullivan and many people lying on the grass, relaxing. After walking along Southbank with the throngs of people, it was very hot and humid and I decided to wander back across Blackfriars Bridge to Fleet Street and then search for a dinner place before Avenue Q.
Before getting to the aria called Seven Dials (designed so that seven streets radiate off of a central point), I went into a high end skin care store near Covent Garden called Forest Essentials and was immediately spotted as a potential buyer (victim) by the very persuasive man there who asked me if anyone had ever told me that I looked like Lady Diana? With raised eyebrows and a glint in my eye I said, why no, but thank you so much! I think perhaps the only similarity might be my haircut which even that is a stretch, but when I pressed him on it he said it was my eyes. I took the compliment! But then I spent way too much on various products which happily I was able to return the next day, awkwardly, with him.
Since it was a Saturday night, there were not many options for dinner near the theater and I found myself staring deer in the headlights at a menu for seafood where basically none of the options appealed to me, but overheard a man saying to me, “You’d like this. You should try it!” We had a bit of banter since he was on his own and leaning on the counter out the window and eventually I said I would stay there and asked if we could just sit together since we were talking so easily. He said his name was Paddy and he was in London for a Padel competition with some of his friends. He has two businesses - one where he helps breed dogs by freezing their eggs? and then another where he sells testosterone kits and blood testing to men who want to improve their sex drive and their testosterone levels. He was probably the most unlikely person I would ever meet in my normal orbit and we hit it off in an easygoing way, partly because he was so friendly and energetic and positive and he seemed genuinely interested in my art and my experience traveling solo. He insisted on paying for my supper which he essentially ordered for me (in a sort of mansplaining but generous sort of way) of two crabrolls and 16 oysters since I was just planning on ordering potato salad for dinner. We followed one another on instagram and gave each other a big hug before I headed to watch Avenue Q. I had the best time I’ve had in years at a show and could completely understand why there was a woman there who was seeing it for the 13th time with her friends.
The performance was perfection with puppets and the actors singing while manipulating the puppets in front of them and launching into hilarious and poignant songs. Here is what ChatGPT said about the themes in Avenue Q:
Avenue Q is surprisingly full of moral ideas beneath all the puppets, profanity, and outrageous jokes. Part of its charm is that it takes the idealistic lessons of children’s television and asks, “Okay—but what happens when you grow up and life doesn’t work that way?”
Some of its strongest lessons are:
You don’t have to discover one grand, permanent “purpose.” Princeton spends much of the show trying to figure out what he is meant to do. The eventual insight is that purpose can be temporary and evolving. Something can matter enormously now without needing to define your entire life.
Life is temporary, including the bad parts. This is probably the show’s central philosophy. Failure, loneliness, unemployment, heartbreak, embarrassment—even happiness and success—are not permanent states. Things change.
Growing up means giving up the fantasy that life will reward you simply for being talented or special. The characters arrive with expectations about careers, love, money and success and discover that adulthood is messier and less fair. But that doesn’t make their lives meaningless.
Connection often matters more than achievement. Princeton initially looks for fulfillment through career and purpose, but much of what gives his life meaning ultimately comes through friendship, love, helping others and belonging to a community.
Helping somebody else can pull you out of excessive self-absorption. Princeton becomes less lost when he stops endlessly examining himself and turns his attention toward helping Kate and supporting something outside himself.
People are contradictory and imperfect. The show deliberately gives everyone embarrassing thoughts, prejudices, sexual impulses, jealousy, selfishness and hypocrisy. Its argument isn't that these things are admirable; it's that being a decent person doesn't require being psychologically spotless.
Relationships require honesty rather than fantasy. Kate and Princeton both have romantic expectations that collide with the reality of another complicated human being. Love isn't presented as the magical solution to adulthood.
Dreams sometimes need to change form rather than be abandoned. Kate's dream of creating a school for monsters initially seems unrealistic, but the show doesn't conclude that dreaming is foolish. She has to make it concrete, seek help and persist.
Generosity creates meaning. “The Money Song” turns giving into an intentionally ridiculous comic production, but there's a sincere idea underneath it: money can become meaningful when it helps someone else accomplish something worthwhile.
And one of the more interesting morals is not to confuse disappointment with failure. The characters' lives at the end aren't remotely what they imagined at the beginning. Yet they're arguably wiser, more connected and more capable of living.
That could actually make Avenue Q unusually fertile material for a UU context—purpose, impermanence, community, accepting human imperfection, generosity, and finding meaning through what we do for one another are all sitting underneath the very adult comedy.
And it has such affection for flawed people. Nobody gets transformed into an ideal version of themselves; they muddle through, hurt each other, recover, change direction, and keep going. “For Now” is a remarkably humane ending because it doesn't promise that everything works out—it says that everything changes, which can be comforting in both directions.
————
I included a ChatGPT description because it was invaluable to me to have ChatGPT on my trip to help with my racing mind and anxiety around health and Pinkerton since I was on my own for so much time. It has some positive uses for emotional regulation, despite it having no emotions itself. It is strange that it helps but, it does.
My last day in London before getting to the airport was challenging only because I hadn’t slept much the night before and it was very hot and I knew I had to lug a lot of luggage and bags around and get to the airport and fly which always makes me nervous. I was able to return most of the skin care and take a few photos around Covent Garden where I ran into a young couple who looked like they were doing a treasure hunt. We were both looking at this old carved sign of rules and regulations at Covent Garden and they showed me the Mystery Guide they were using and explained they were beta testing it. I totally want to get these mystery guides for other cities in the UK next time I go! https://www.mysteryguides.co.uk/
After talking with them I decided to go back to the Portrait Gallery to see more portraits. It was cool and sort of coincidental to see the Map of Days by Grayson Perry which I had seen in the original in Falmouth in the Art Center as a main motif in the National Portrait Gallery gift shop - on aprons, table runners, napkins, cards…I bought two packets of his cards to send to friends. He has a great sense of humor.
My seatmate on the British Airways flight home is from the Philippines and is a grad student studying ocean turbulence at MIT. Amazingly she is in the friend group with my house/cat sitter Rya who has been amazing taking care of Pinkerton and the garden for the three weeks I’ve been gone. I was so lucky to find her through my neighbor, Lisa. Agnes and I exchanged info and she says she will come to the Handel and Haydn concert I’m in Oct. 2! I am still processing all that happened. I wish it hadn’t cost so much money, but I know that the sense of personal growth and cultural impact was worth it, and being with family in such a gorgeous spot. I survived all the things that could have happened that didn’t, and feel so enriched and lucky to have had this three week trip. Now it is back to work mode and hopefully doing some painting! Thanks for reading along with me.