Sometimes it feels like I’m in a Michael Palin documentary series … I hope I’ve got the right hat on?!
Under the guise of a cultural experience, I was invited to a friend of a friend’s kid’s dance performance. I happily accepted this invitation, as I liked all the people involved, and lamented that I hadn’t quite seen enough of children’s theatre so far this year.
The venue was a square building lost within the walls of not unattractive apparments, most not too high and with cute adornments on each small balcony. Double doors pushed open, and suitably sweltering heating conditions encountered within, we stood in wait for some form of organisation to arise.
The main lobby of the place was as regular as you could expect, with child and parent alike darting here and there like a flock of starlings in a tree. However, as the number of flitting blonde haired kids increased, the room grew smaller, the salmon pink walls now dangerously close to doing my eyes some permanent damage. Soon the pressure was almost too intense, as personal space became a palpable joke, and theoretical at best. The crescendo of this was the decent down a nearby staircase of a plump and jovially mannered lady. It was quickly clear she was a dance teacher, as the previously whizzing action of children fell into a regimental two-by-two line At her feet. We took our seats, in baited breath, and looked towards the stage … But it wasn’t really a stage at all.
As far as I could tell it was an elaborate version of duck duck goose, complete with Honkey Tonk piano player and a room full of camera opporators. The performance ended in a rousing call to arms, imploring the new youth of today to brush their teeth less, always ask for more sweets and above all, poke your tongue out at as many relatives as was possible. After a rousing applause, Facebook feeds were checked, videos on phones rewatched, and the crowd dispersed. This was the start of the Xmas season, and there was more, oh much more, to come … S.H.