A Saturday in Covent Garden

Today was one of the those rare days when everything goes like clockwork.

Up at seven.  Prepare self and daughter, walk to local train station.  Meet up with friend Sarah, who has masterminded this entire adventure. Take train together to the city, change to another going to The City. Enjoy ninety-minute southern journey before disembarking. Negotiate way to underground train, and climb aboard.  Get off at appropriate stop and relax. Breathe in fresh cold air.  Appreciate humming busyness of crowds, street performing fun, unexpected music, and the anticipation of a magical afternoon treat.

Coo has been to the ballet before, but this was her first "real" ballet.  Yes, she sat for over two hours, appreciating this Royal Ballet performance of the seasonal favourite, the Nutcracker.

In the last ten minutes of the show Coo had started to squirm, but she was tired. She lasted until after we ate a late lunch/early tea. Moments after our friend Sarah snapped a photo of us posing in front of Covent Garden's lavishly decorated Rudolf topiary, she fell asleep in my arms.

We had to sit down for a hot drink after this, and darkness crept up on us as we sat, talking.

We wandered around Covent Garden's lavishly decorated market.

Coo was quiet about the day until we walked through the door at home, finally, after such a long day of walking and journeying. "Boys, boys! I saw the Nutcracker ballet!"

"And next week I am going to dance class."

And that, my friends, is the way the magical art of ballet continues to live throughout the centuries.