So, yesterday, I went. Of course I did: I’m one of those obsessives who wears their colours on their sleeve along with their heart (messy, this: imagine what happens when you get your sleeve in the soup).
Peter Pan El Musical is not what a lot of people, I imagine especially British people, would expect. It’s almost exactly what I expected, however, and I had an amazing time. Never mind that my Spanish is rudimentary; never mind that the place was alive with ill-controlled children; never mind that the reviews had all been less than complimentary. I loved it. It was big and bright and enthusiastic, the singers were engaged and engaging, and the bad guy always gets all the best tunes. (and a note: if ever you find yourself trapped in a concrete bunker with Miguel Ángel Gamero and there is no other way out, the man could probably break down the walls using only his voice. Unbelieveable.) I would have given them more than twenty minutes of curtain calls. I found myself on the train home grinning like a fool and wanting to learn Spanish.
This wasn’t the only thing I occupied my Saturday with. I had also taken a fancy to going to see the Saint Sebastians at Dulwich Picture Gallery (as suggested by my late reading of The Chap, that fine magazine) so I took myself off to do so and have a look at their permanent collection while I was at it. I highly recommend it if you like old masters and have a spare moment or so while wandering in London. They also do free guided tours.
Now. He dicho bastantes sobre capitán Garfio para hoy. Back to creativity.
