March continues to be bright and clear and mostly warm. It might almost be good weather for warfare were it not for the sandstorms in the Arabian peninsular.
All sorts of people are poking their heads above the parapets. Keith will come and stay in May. Lowstoft Colin will also visit possibly in April. We may go and see Cambridge Chris during the summer. I almost managed to go to the Paris Opéra with John from UCL Library. Robert won't be in London the next time that Ross and I are down there. Phil and I may be back on the training trail.
On Thursday, I went to Reiki and had a strange session. I was invited to claim time for myself as I gave so much of my time to others and relax and go to somewhere that gave me pleasure and where I felt happy. And I did all that and when I got there I found that I was sad and unhappy and fretful and confused and in a turmoil.
On Friday, the doctor told me that my ongoing dry throat was a known side-effect of the drugs that I have been taking for my allergy to tree pollen. So, we have changed the medication. I wish he had told me that two months ago.
Saturday took us to the Liverpool Playhouse for a performance by the Richard
Alston Dance Company. It was something of a sad affair. I remember the days
when London Contemporary Dance Theatre and Ballet Rambert would visit the
Liverpool Empire for four nights apiece and pull in 1,000 to 1,500 people
per performance. There can't have been more than 150 people in the audience
for this show.
The three pieces were all given with the same empty stage, no backcloth or setting and minimal lighting. The only way to tell the pieces apart was from the slightly different costumes and the fact that the central piece was danced to Brahms piano music played live on stage. Three pieces of twenty minutes each separated by intervals of twenty minutes. It was a pretty slender evening.
I wasn't much taken with the choreography either. It felt very derivative. At least we have lost the body slapping that was a feature of much modern dance post Martha Graham. However, we now seem to be into Mark Morris homages with couples doing synchronised leaping and then suddenly walking out of the dance style before suddenly resuming the dance again.
And I don't know whether or not it was company policy but everyone on stage seemed to have completely flat and featureless faces. The women particularly were incredibly po-faced. Maybe it was something to do with the Dance being the thing and the body in motion and we don't want to spoil the purity of the experience by showing feelings on the face and tempting the audience into seeing unuseful elements such as narrative or emotional content. But then I enjoyed watching Jonathan Goddard dancing simply because he seemed to be having a belting time performing for me.
The current male apprentice dancer, Wayne Parsons, was alright. But a bit tentative. I'm sure that son, Robert, could have done as well. I must find out how his interview with the company went. He was sure that he would simply walk in the room and they would say "But you're six foot four tall" and that would be an end to it.