So, last night we went to Sadler's Wells to see Eonnagata.
The venue is certainly one of the best I've been to in terms of access for wheelchair users, right down to the car parking space I was able to book free of charge. It's so encouraging when a relatively recent conversion of an old venue manages to get access so right. Even more frustrating when a venue fails, as a surprising number of new-builds do (names may follow, but I really don't have the energy tonight, having spent the day hosting Rosalie's fifth birthday party).
Anyway, last night...
I must confess that dance was never a medium that I found easy to enjoy. The idea of telling a story through movement always seemed rather limited to me, imagining as I did that it was mainly Swan Lake with a variety of different costumes to identify whether it was contemporary/classical, etc.
Last night was only my second experience of live dance, my first being less narrative in the form of Two:Four:Ten as reported on Looking Up at the time. For my latest experience there was very definitely a narrative, some speech, a few subtitles and even a song. There was also some great sequences, stunning lighting and inventive use of tables (very cryptic, but it will make sense to anyone who's seen it). I have to say that again I really enjoyed it. There was an episodic feel to the piece which made it easy to stay involved with bits that I didn't connect with, as I was safe in the knowledge that something else would be along soon.
The most baffling 'episode' of the evening came after the show. I went to use the disabled toilet only to find that it was engaged, and a rather portly American woman was waiting by the door.
As I approached, she looked up rather sheepishly and said something which I didn't fully understand. I assumed that I had misheard her making some apology for a companion who had opted for the disabled toilet because it was nearest the exit.
However, when the door opened the occupant turned out to be a very elderly gentleman, and it was only after he left the cubicle and the lady darted in that I played back her comment and realised what she had said.
It was clear that she was the elderly man's companion, and I could understand that she would be reluctant to leave him alone while she went to find another toilet, so I had no issue with her using the disabled toilet. It was what she said. Her sheepish look was accompanied by this statement:
"I'll be really quick, I can pee like a horse."
Try as I might, I could not prevent my mind becoming filled with the image of her covering the bathroom floor with paper towels before trotting around on all fours emitting a stout stream of urine and the occasional whinny.
The venue is certainly one of the best I've been to in terms of access for wheelchair users, right down to the car parking space I was able to book free of charge. It's so encouraging when a relatively recent conversion of an old venue manages to get access so right. Even more frustrating when a venue fails, as a surprising number of new-builds do (names may follow, but I really don't have the energy tonight, having spent the day hosting Rosalie's fifth birthday party).
Anyway, last night...
I must confess that dance was never a medium that I found easy to enjoy. The idea of telling a story through movement always seemed rather limited to me, imagining as I did that it was mainly Swan Lake with a variety of different costumes to identify whether it was contemporary/classical, etc.
Last night was only my second experience of live dance, my first being less narrative in the form of Two:Four:Ten as reported on Looking Up at the time. For my latest experience there was very definitely a narrative, some speech, a few subtitles and even a song. There was also some great sequences, stunning lighting and inventive use of tables (very cryptic, but it will make sense to anyone who's seen it). I have to say that again I really enjoyed it. There was an episodic feel to the piece which made it easy to stay involved with bits that I didn't connect with, as I was safe in the knowledge that something else would be along soon.
The most baffling 'episode' of the evening came after the show. I went to use the disabled toilet only to find that it was engaged, and a rather portly American woman was waiting by the door.
As I approached, she looked up rather sheepishly and said something which I didn't fully understand. I assumed that I had misheard her making some apology for a companion who had opted for the disabled toilet because it was nearest the exit.
However, when the door opened the occupant turned out to be a very elderly gentleman, and it was only after he left the cubicle and the lady darted in that I played back her comment and realised what she had said.
It was clear that she was the elderly man's companion, and I could understand that she would be reluctant to leave him alone while she went to find another toilet, so I had no issue with her using the disabled toilet. It was what she said. Her sheepish look was accompanied by this statement:
"I'll be really quick, I can pee like a horse."
Try as I might, I could not prevent my mind becoming filled with the image of her covering the bathroom floor with paper towels before trotting around on all fours emitting a stout stream of urine and the occasional whinny.





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