Shell Collecting

I adore Rowan Atkinson. He is a master at physical comedy and I love him. Yesterday I watched this “director’s cut” of the British Airways/Comic Relief co-production of a video to use on their planes. It’s an amusing video from start to finish but when Mr. Atkinson comes on, I lose it every time.

Then I watched this video of 65,000 people waiting for a Greenday concert in London’s Hyde Park sing Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody brilliantly. I loved Freddy Mercury and had quite a moment in Zanzibar at his home where he grew up. To see all these strangers unified singing his song gives me goose bumps.

Saturday I had a nice visit with Bruce and in the evening I decided to go to La Brasserie for a dinner of mussels and to ask for the shells. Michelle, my server, recognize me and remembered by last request for shells.

When I asked if I could have a lot and come by each day, she agreed but I could tell she was reluctant. Later she asked why I wanted the shells and so I told her and showed her photos on my phone. But when I told her it was to honour Reena Virk and explained the meaning of everything, she started to cry and left.

When she came back, she put her hand on my shoulder and said that she’d told her co-workers and that they and the restaurant would be honored to contribute all the shells I need. The change in her was moving and impressive. I really have made a powerful piece, I realize, in my defiant dress; I could not be happier.

Today I’ve been invited (as a guest) to a brunch with a whack of people I barely know in a place I have never been. Then I have to go to pick up some shells so likely won’t have time to visit Bruce, but tonight: Grantchester and My Mother and Other Strangers.