Blood moon

In Paris yesterday I jump into a taxi and hear a rip - of course my trousers torn up the back-side. Running late for meetings and with my summer intern, I make the rounds and a joke out of the circumstances. I'm not so worried about people seeing my boxer shorts - its the pink flesh of the leg that is rather unprofessional.

From Paris to Waterloo to the V&A where Sonnet meets me with a change of clothes. We head for Regent's Park where we visit Todd and Christine Fisher for an evening picnic and MacBeth at the out-door theatre. Todd is a partner at the buy-out firm KKR and his wife Christine is involved with Women-For-Women, which sponsors women survivors of war-torn regions. The Fishers have four kids at various stages of maturity from 12 years to 24 months and we are impressed by their organisation. Our warm evening is suited for the dramatic play, which is as bloody and bleak as I recall from a high school reading. With Othello, I have seen my share of gore this week and appropriately the moon is blood red, hanging over the horizon for our drive home.

"Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing." Macbeth Quote (Act V, Scene V).