spitting from N8

After weeks of looking forward to tonight, it ends in devastating let-down. Sadlers Wells, Sylvie Guilem, Russell Maliphant, uber music, uber lights... what could go wrong? Oh! The choreographer forgot to put any bloody dancing in the sodding show. So, Sylvie who has a body that is more than hypnotic did a lot of sort of not a huge amount and Russell did a bit more of that too and 90 minutes later I was still waiting for the big dancing to start, and then the show ended. What was all that about?
So, £64 down and I'm spitting from N8 - I just, what? I don't understand - where was the dancing? All the right ingredients but nothing came out the oven. Just a few flash lights, some swishing of swords, a couple of costume changes and some (actually this was quite good, in fact the best bit of the show) slightly breathless (not sure why they would've been breathless given the lack of action) dancers reciting poetry from 17th-Centure France.
You know when you go to a gallery and you look at the stuff in it and you come out and you go, I could have done that! NO, in fact, Mol could've done that. NO! In fact Liz, aged not even 3 could've bleedin' well done it. Well, that's what I feel like tonight. Could've been put together by a team of 4year olds with an understanding of French history and a penchant for quirky spot-lights.
Bring on Wimbledon this Friday.
Bring. It. On. Murray and all. (Federer? Murray? Who cares! Champagne strawberries no kids idle chat sunshine and no poncy dancers prancing around in painted tights waving broom handles at each other. Cheers!)