Friday, 23 June 2017


My husband took me see a ballet last night.  It was Giselle at the Grand Opera House in Belfast. 

I love going to see the ballet, although I don't manage to do it very often. The beauty and grace of the dancers and the gorgeous costumes are a sight to behold.  It must be the five year old ballet dancer inside of me (whose mum made her go to lessons every bloody Saturday morning) desperate to put on a pretty frock, get up on stage and perform for the paying masses.  Or perhaps I really just like watching men in tights.

I thought maybe I was being a bit foolhardy going to sit in an auditorium where there would be loads of people sitting up close and personal.  I must admit to having felt a little nervous when people were coughing and sneezing nearby.  I kept my fingers crossed that they just had hay fever and that I wasn't going to get some dreaded infection.

I thought the performance was spectacular but it wasn't my husband's cup of tea.  He suffered for two hours for me, bless him.   

When we left the Opera House at 10pm, it was still light and the streets were buzzing with tourists many of whom were taking photos of the date on the front of the pub across the road.  We sat in the station waiting for our train home along with loads of other people who had also spent an enjoyable night in town.  I just love Belfast.  It's bloody brilliant...and also a little bit bonkers.


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