Heroes

I’ve been in this town so long
So long to the city
I’m fit with the stuff
To ride in the rough
And sunny down snuff I’m alright
By the heroes and…

Van Dyke Parks, Brian Wilson

They say that you shouldn’t meet your heroes. Now – as it happens I have some small experience in this regard, having several decades ago been introduced to one of mine…

…and it turns out that ‘they’ are right.

Finding myself face to face with one of the most brilliant, erudite and talented playwrights working today (subsequently to be knighted for his services to the Theatre) I could think of nothing of any intelligence with which to engage him concerning the play that I had just experienced, instead merely burbling inanely some incoherence about his genius which probably embarrassed him as much as it did me.

Ouch!

Well – as part of what is quite clearly an ongoing education I now discover that one should not ‘meet‘ one’s villains either!

My antipathy towards the current Chancellor of the Exchequer will not come as news to those who have been subjected to the occasional political rants within these postings (examples – should you need them – here and here). Perhaps the most galling aspect – to my mind anyway – is that he is a Old Boy of the School. Given that he has, I am reliably informed, spoken in less than complimentary terms concerning his own schooldays it is perhaps mildly surprising that he has placed his son at the School.

Last week saw the final drama production of the school year. Long standing readers may recall that, two years ago, my own production of Parzifal featured in this slot. This year it was the turn of an excellently realised production of Beowulf featuring a cast of more than thirty – amongst which number was the aforementioned progeny.

Having volunteered my services Front of House on the Friday I almost inevitably found myself checking the ticket of the man himself. He had clearly brought his entire clan along to witness the adolescent’s senior school drama debut. To make matters worse he did not rush off afterwards, but joined the throng outside the Drama Centre in partaking of some liquid refreshment.

It is profoundly uncomfortable to find oneself sequestered for any period within a few yards of someone whose every public pronouncement incites one to near incandescent rage only to observe that, in close proximity, he is after all but a man – and one who is clearly extremely proud of his son. Yes – if one looked there were flashes of the arrogance, of the sense of entitlement, that have been so widely publicised (and criticised – not only by me!), but on another level this was simply a parent in an off-duty moment supporting his child…

…which is not at all how I want to think of him!

Bah!