Tonight I went to see Wild Honey by Michael Frayn and Chekhov at the ADC, preceeded by a talk by the great man himself (Michael Frayn, that is, not Chekhov, obviously). We randomly aquired a Miklos, which was nice, as I hadn't seen him for ages (although I maintain that the world is conspiring to keep me from getting romantic dinners alone with people other than M ;-) ) He has now been promoted from Masters to the lofty heights of PhDing. I hope I didn't come across as too jealous. It's hard to be jealous when your mouth is full of noodles.
It's been a while since I heard a theatre played properly, as Granny Weatherwax would say, and Wild Honey left me speachless and sad and somewhere quite other within myself in a way that nothing has done for a long time. And a moral and cautionary tale it was too ;-) Walking home, and a man with a guitar was playing Blowing in the Wind, a song which I have loved since my childhood, and I sat on the corner by the round church to listen, and we ended singing together, and exchanged names, which I have now forgotten, and shook hands, and I walked away into the night.
I have also produced another analogy that I think might be enlightening in the whole Christian debate.