Bred for the Upper-Class
After writing two major papers and cleaning my room, I felt much better headed to the Messiah, despite sleeping through breakfast and subsequently dinner. My stomach is still recovering from scarfing chicken noodle soup after the Messiah. It was in St. George's Church (the chapel where Handel grew up and no doubt met J.S. Bach, kittens). The music was lovely, but three hours' sit in some particularly uncomfortable pews is not something I would subject anyone but my mother to (only because she would giggle and be enthused by the music, like me). If it were anyone else, we'd grace the Queen's Theatre at Leicester to see Les Mis, catch a movie premier or two, wander down Regent Street, and hit every pub from here to Finchley, spending a day in Camden's music scene. Diagon Alley I hear does concerts when the weather's nice. No tea for us, that's for sure. What's the point of staying inside in such a beautiful place as Hyde Park for something as insipid as tea?
After memorizing In Flander's Fields and the Soldier and hearing the raddest baritone ever, I'm off to bed to dream inside Handel's church...Perhaps I will be classier than I did leaving, like I've returned from finishing school. Then again, I cracked up at the new Nando's napkin: Now remove all evidence...
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