I woke up at 5 AM to the news that Donald Trump was most probably the president elect. Shock and disbelief were the only words to describe my feelings. After watching more results come in and hearing Trump's acceptance speech, I had to get out of the flat and find solace somewhere.

I went to the National Portrait Gallery for the Picasso Portraits exhibition. What an interesting show. If you didn't know Picasso at all and saw these works, you would never imagine they were done by the same artist. This exhibition covered all periods of his career, and much of the art was from private collections, making it that much more special. I took the audio tour, which was very informative. No photography was allowed. (I was going to put up a link to their website, but they only show two of the pieces.) The only part of the exhibition I didn't appreciate was the home videos of Picasso and his wife and son, from 1931. The whole series of three or four vignettes spliced together was only about 4 minutes, but it was boring and didn't add to the exhibition or provide any insight into Picasso.

Feeling somewhat better, I walked around Leicester Square a bit. What started out as a dismal, cold, rainy day was now just dismal and cold. On the underground heading home, even the usually comforting recorded voice of the woman announcing each stop, notifying us of any connecting trains at each stop, and asking us to mind the closing doors or the gap, wasn't comforting to me today. Nor was this Henry Moore sculpture outside King's Cross Station.

I returned home and shortly thereafter Hillary gave her concession speech. I had been on the verge of tears all day, but that was all I needed to make it happen. She was so eloquent and I felt so much sympathy for her. Reading this back, it sounds overly dramatic, but I really was in a funk over the outcome. I think we should be allowed to have one day of mourning what could have, and should have, been.

My niece Brea texted me to see if she could take us out to a pub to commiserate with us. We arranged to meet at the Drake & Morgan in the Google building behind St. Pancras. We had not been over to that part before. It was quite nice, with a large square and fountains. Gord and I got to the restaurant ahead and ordered some dinner, as we had a play to attend. Brea joined us as we finished. I thought the food was good, but more importantly Brea helped me feel a lot better. Just talking about it helped.

After a short visit, we left, Gord and I to the King's Cross Theatre a 2-minute walk away, and Brea home. We had tickets to the Donmar Theatre's production of Julius Caesar, part of their Shakespeare Trilogy directed by Phyllida Lloyd. It has an all-female cast and stars Harriet Walter as Brutus. We have now seen all three, Henry IV in Brooklyn, and The Tempest and Julius Caesar here. All of them are set in a prison and all were excellent.

I have this thing about backpacks. I think people should be more cognizant of the space they take up when they wear them, so that maybe they wouldn't bump into people so much. Check out this one, worn by a woman in front of me waiting to get into the theatre tonight.

Read: John Galsworthy's "A Forsyte Encounters the People, 1917" (1930) and Graham Green's "A Little Place Off the Edgware Road" (1939) from London Stories