Dance: Nederlands Dans Theater Mixed Bill

I love going to Sadler's Wells - don't do it nearly enough. So when the London European Club suggested a Meetup there, last Thursday - I immediately booked. Decided to work from home that day, as Sadler's Wells isn't the quickest to get to.

We were to meet beforehand in The Angel, a short walk from Sadler's Wells. A train and two Tubes got me to Angel Station, across the road from the pub - when I went in, I scoured the place for the organiser, who saw me first and waved a long arm in the air so I could see him. Just a few of us came to the pub beforehand, and had drinks before heading down - a tempting menu on the table advertised "The Nation's Biggest Curry House", specific to Thursdays, which would've been nice: but I'd eaten at home, and we didn't have very much time for eating, anyway.

It was a cool evening, but not unpleasant as we made our way down the road. We'd bought our own tickets, but all in the Upper Circle - good exercise, as ever, climbing all those stairs. While the organiser hung around in the lobby so people could find him, we made our way up, a couple of us buying crisps. And so to our seats.. d' you know, pretty soon after the performance started, my back was killing me. I think it's a result of sitting so high up and having to look down at the stage - I'm often in the gods, but notice this effect more here than elsewhere.

The performance was a mixed bill by Nederlands Dans Theater. Now, I hadn't bought a programme, and the website gave no more than cursory information - titles, a brief description. We were told there'd be two intervals, and I knew that the set up to the first interval would comprise a triple bill. No idea what the story was, mind. But I have to say, it was beautiful to watch - the backdrop panels moved around the stage by individual dancers, invisible behind them, were a nice touch, and the musical accompaniment was a perfect fit.

At the first interval, most of us convened in the upstairs foyer. Some were confused about what they'd just seen, but one - a former dancer - said something that made me think. "There doesn't have to be a story," she said. "There can be, but that's not what's important. Just watch the form." Which was when I realised - I was watching something in a different language. A lot of what I go to is pretty wordy - hey, just the night before, I was at storytelling! (In fact, the stamp still hadn't quite worn off my hand.) But this was a different beast - where words and story didn't really matter: or, perhaps, the story wasn't the kind we were used to hearing, but rather one whose theme was movement.

With that in mind, I went back in determined just to enjoy what I was seeing, not looking for a plot. I particularly enjoyed one piece danced to Bach's Violin Partita, obviously choreographed to complement the flow of the music. I've always loved it when they do that! But the popular hit of the night was the very last piece, Cacti, which rapidly developed a sense of humour - and with a nod to those who'd like to be told what was going on, for heaven's sake, they added a narrator for the last bit!.. who pompously told us how this was an expression of post-modernism (or something). And finished by adding the dancers' thoughts. And - a dead cat.

Hilarious! and a great way to end the evening - as I told the guy taking vox pops in the lobby. The organiser had an early start, so we went our separate ways, the night having turned to light rain. A 38 to Victoria approached the bus stop shortly after - I'd have preferred the 341, which would have taken me to Waterloo, but said what the hey, and hopped on. It was a Routemaster, which handily meant I didn't have to queue at the front door, but could board in the middle. What with the traffic, it took us about an hour to get to the station - but it was lovely to go down Shaftesbury Avenue again, and through the bright lights of Piccadilly Circus - it's been a while! At the station, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the departure boards weren't quite as incomprehensible as I remembered - there were boards telling me when the next departures were to Clapham Junction, and I made one shortly after.

And now I'm in Ireland, in the midst of torrential rain. My blog's been somewhat delayed (apologies if you were looking for it!) by the fact that I decided to go to a film on Monday, so I had to do the film list! Having rejected Captain America: Civil War on the grounds of sheer lack of interest, I'm happy to say that the winner was Sing Street, which I've booked for in my local cinema - 'coz it's cheaper if you do. Yes, it's another story of musical ambition in run-down Dublin in the 80s. And written and directed by the high priest of the subject, John Carney. But you know, he does know his subject - and this one promises to be a more pop-oriented offering than what he's done previously, which will make a change. Should be a blast from the past. And I've been missing the cinema, and the convenience of driving - so, looking forward to that!