All posts by Claire

About Claire

Wandering (and wondering) development professional and aspiring aid worker. Contact me on anticipationofwonder[at]gmail[dot]com

An unusual attachment to airports

I just read this great description of airport-hopping across Africa, which, of course, made me want to go and explore my own continent. Exploring Africa is a running theme in my life at the moment, partly because it’s just generally amazing and partly because of my amazing friend who is currently travelling from Cape Town to Cairo on public transport. He’s been a little quiet lately – presumably because the internet is not a mango. Rumour has it he has made it to Ethiopia and is still in one travel-happy piece.

Reading about travel always makes me think about airports. When I first started working, I plunged straight into a somewhat crazy job where I found myself spending 3-4 days each week travelling. Until that point, I had no memory of flying, although I apparently flew occassionally as a small child. Literally within 7 days of working, I was (rather nervously) on my first flight to Cape Town. From then on it became a regular part of most work-weeks. There were 7am flights to Durban, 6am flights to Uppington and flights at all sorts of times to Cape Town and East London and Joburg. I became one of those people who could pack for a week away in the space of 5 minutes and once in less when I suddenly and unexpectedly had to fly to Polokwane on a Friday afternoon.

I became familiar with many of the airports in South Africa. Richards Bay airport is teeny-tiny – or at least it was the last time I was there – with one luggage carousel and a little cafe counter, run by a little old lady, where you expected to see them serving tea in proper china cups. Upington for some reason struck me as more tourist-y. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that they have, apparently, one of the longest runways in the the world – someone once told me that a space shuttle could land there if it wasn’t able to land in the Northern Hemisphere, but that may just be urban legend.

My least favourite airport in South Africa is Port Elizabeth. It is also the airport where I always, for some unknown reason, get stuck waiting for hours and hours. I once spent 6 hours there with a friend, this time due to poor planning on my part, and we were so bored we ended up sitting on a bench outside redoing the words of show-tunes to express our desperate longing one day to escape the PE airport. And that wasn’t even the last time I spent far too many hours there.

My second worst is Durban, purely because the design is horrible. I will never understand why anyone would put a security check-point, particularly at an airport where everyone in the family seems to feel the need to come along to see people off, in the middle of a crowded corridor. Durban has also been the site of far too many delays and problems. Yet another reason I’m not a fan of the city.

In the later years of working for a large organisation, most of my airport-travel was from Cape Town. At that stage, I was working between South Africa’s two largest cities, travelling up and down every 2 weeks or so. I think some part of my brain is still waiting every week for the 4:30am Monday wake up to catch an early plane so that I could make my meeting in Joburg. At one point, in the process of renovating the place, they removed about half of the chairs between the security check and the boarding gates. This airport is particularly busy on Monday mornings, so the choice was to stand around until someone finally decided that the plane was ready for boarding (an often-delayed event on those busy days) or to sit on the floor. I can’t count the number of times I sat near the boarding gates checking mail while I waited, with bleary-eyed tourists stealing bemused glances at the woman in business clothes sitting on the floor.

Apart from East London airport, which is special because it means going home – oh, and because they still have the light fittings in old-SAA colours from the 1970s – my favourite airport in South Africa is OR Tambo in Johannesburg. There are several reasons for this. The first is just that it’s a nice airport. It is spacious and modern, with good facilities and has necessities like a pharmacy, stationary shops and book stores, which are precious to find when you’re spending so much time in meetings and trainings that the only time to buy things is between flights.

It is also a fairly efficient airport. At least, I’ve always found it that way. Everything seems logical and well-designed, although possibly just because I’ve spent so much time there that I can find my way around while half-asleep purely on muscle-memory and instinct. The staff have generally been pleasant to me, too. And after a while, either because my name popped up in their computers as someone who flies an awful lot or just because I started to look like I knew what I was doing, I became one of those people who always gets the good seats and sometimes gets bumped up a class when they’re overbooked (although that only happened a couple of times).

The other reason I love Joburg airport is that it’s a great place to relax after a hectic day of work. Again, this may just be because I’ve spent so much time there. There is a bar near the domestic boarding gates, which became, for a time, my ‘local’ – the place I’d go after work on a Friday to have a quiet pint and calm down after the week. The Wimpy nearby has been the source of many quick meals. And I’ve spent many happy hours, when I arrived early or the plane was delayed, sitting reading or writing near my boarding gate. A friend of mine once pointed out that airports are a great place to write and to think. Joburg (OR Tambo) was that for me for a long time.

Of course, there are bad things too. At one point when I was (quite literally) commuting between Stutterheim (East London Airport) and Pretoria (OR Tambo), I  regularly dealt with Friday 5pm flights to one of the smaller airports, invariably involving a nightmare combination of crying children, irritable, demanding politician-types and far too many people who have never flown before.

But on the whole, Joburg airport is a little home-away-from-home. Coming here (to South Korea), when I was entirely terrified of everything, it was a comfort to be leaving from ‘my airport’. I think that – along with the much-needed hand-holding of a particularly sympathetic and amazing friend – is what actually got me on the plane. The trip here is a bit of a blur except for the moments of calm at each airport – Joburg, Dubai, Incheon and finally Daegu, each with its own peculiarities and atmosphere. Dubai, huge and glittering and with palm-trees. Incheon, a maze of escalators and underground trains and following signs to try to find the right check-in desk. Daegu, small and empty and mostly closed for the evening by the time I arrived.

In the 5 and a half months I’ve been here, I’ve only once been near the airport, and that was just on a bus-ride driving past. Among the many other things I miss, I kind of miss South African airports. I miss the early morning rush and the check-in staff trying to get everyone onto the plane while dealing with the idiots who can’t understand why their precious oversized wooden giraffe will not fit in the overhead luggage compartment. I miss the ease of slipping one item of check-in luggage onto the weighing-thingy, asking the smiling check-in person for a window seat and walking away with boarding pass in hand. I miss hot coffee from Wimpy and watching the early morning mist or the frost on the ground or the rising heat of the day through the huge windows at the boarding gates. I miss sitting on the floor with my laptop sending one last email before getting onto the plane. I miss the every-time thrill of take-off as the plane speeds down the runway and I lean back against the headrest and watch from the window as Joburg slips away and away below us.

I miss the going and the waiting to go, the ‘molweni‘ and the ‘totsiens‘, the anonymity and the calm-in-the-chaos of those moments. In the midst of a life of taxis buses and subways and cavernous airport-like KTX stations, I find myself missing, just a little, the way I feel when I’m sitting alone at an airport.

Silkworms in a can

Koreans eat some pretty strange things. Dog-meat, probably the best-known, can still be obtained although it is restricted to special restaurants, is rather expensive and is consequently unlikely to show up randomly in your bulgogi. Some of the snack foods seem to freak the foreigners out even more.

Koreans tend to order and offer lots of side-foods (anju) to nibble on when people are drinking. One of the most popular with my friends is the salty-fried-eggs served at the Hut – our usual Friday-night dongdongju spot. A few weeks back when we were there one of the Koreans in the group ordered chicken’s feet. Having grown up in SA, I am familiar with ‘walkie-talkies‘ and various other unusual (from a Western perspective) animal bits. I’ve even (willingly!) eaten tripe. So I was less thrown than the others and, to be honest, quite enjoyed giggling quietly in the corner as I watched their reactions. I certainly wasn’t jumping to sample it, though.

I was more adventurous last week, when the anju (I think ordered by one of our group) included bugs. When I think of edible bugs, my mind immediately meanders calmly over to mopane worms and all the things you can do with them. I once saw a menu (in Obs – go figure) advertising a starter of feta-stuffed mopani worms.

In Korea they eat silkworms. Or more accurately silkworm pupae. The silkworm pupae are steamed or boiled and then served on a plate. I tried one. It actually wasn’t too bad. It’s difficult to separate taste from texture. I’d describe them as crunchy and salty and juicy. The only problem with them (assuming you can get your head around eating bugs) is that they have a sort of gritty, cement-dust-like aftertaste which isn’t all that pleasant. Also, they’re a mission to pick up if you’re as inept with chopsticks as I still am.

But I tasted them and they weren’t too bad and I didn’t think anything more of it. Until last night. I had just been thinking about Beondegi wondering if they’d make an appearance this Friday night – not that I’m desperate for them; I was just wondering – and I was in the mart (mini-supermarket), when there, between the tinned sweetcorn and the ubiquitous Spam, were tins of silkworms. I couldn’t believe my eyes. One thing to serve bugs with dongdongju and soju in a Korean restaurant/bar, but another thing entirely to sell them, tinned,  in the supermarket. At which point I got the giggles – can’t you just picture it, ‘Honey, I’m just popping down to the mart for a can of silkworms’?

Some days I feel like Korea is a little colony of the USA and then along come the canned silkworms and I feel like I’m on a different planet.

Tchaikovsky and Noraebang (but not at the same time)

It seemed appropriate that a week that began with Puccini should end with Tchaikovsky. I have decided, quite cheerfully I must add, that if it’s too cold to explore outdoors, the Arts will be my substitute source of wonder, so after a brunch opera on Monday, I spent Saturday night at the ballet.

Ballet has not always been a part of my life. I wasn’t one of those little girls who spends all her childhood years dreaming of tutus and pirouettes. I’ve been involved in dance in one form or another for years but it wasn’t until I became a regular Festino that I discovered the joy of ballet. There is a ballet every year at Fest, usually performed by the Cape Town City Ballet accompanied by one of the Johannesburg Orchestras, although they have on occasion had the South African Ballet Theatre and the Cape Philharmonic. Over the years, I’ve seen various ballets, including Coppelia, Don Quixote, The Nutcracker and, my favourite, Carmen.

This is the first time I have seem ballet outside of South Africa, so I was quite excited. I was also very nearly late. I somehow got it into my head at some point during the week that this was a 7:30pm ballet instead of a 7pm start and it only occurred to me to check at about 6:15pm on Saturday, while sitting calmly sewing a missing button back onto my coat. In a panic, I finished getting ready, rushed down the hill, drew money and grabbed a cab. Luckily, the venue, the Suseong Artpia, is literally 10 minutes from my house, so I was in time to get a ticket and find my seat before the start of the show. Tickets ranged from 20000 won (for seats in the balcony) to 40000 won (for the main block of seats right in front of the stage). I picked the middle-ground of a 30000 won ticket (R190), thereby avoiding at least some of the many, many children, while also avoiding being close enough to see the dancers sweat.

Suseong Artpia is another great Daegu venue. The main auditorium, the Yongi Hall, seats nearly 1000 people (including the large 2nd floor balcony) and has comfortable seats, well set so that everyone can see the stage and lovely, lovely acoustics. When I first took my seat, I wasn’t sure if they would be using a live orchestra. Most of the information for these shows is in Korean so it’s always a bit of a guessing game. Then I saw the top of a harp appear and heard them tuning up and was glad. Ballet is always better with live music.

This ballet was performed by the Seoul Ballet Theatre, with original choreography by James Jeon. The first impression I got was of a large production. As we waited for everyone to settled and the ushers rushed around with extra cushions for small children, I had a chance to notice that even the front of the stage was part of the set, with large nutcracker figures stretching from the stage to the ceiling on either side and the clock face hanging in the middle at the top. The curtains weren’t closed. Instead a screen showed a village with snowflakes falling (lights) and the words ‘Merry Christmas’ in lights across the middle of the screen. I felt the tingly joy of anticipation and magic.

The Nutcracker opens with families of mothers and fathers and children arriving at a Christmas Party in all their winter finery. From the first moment, with the orchestra sweeping the audience up in waves of beautiful music, the dancers carried us into a magical world with perfect characterisation and attention to detail. In some performances of the Nutcracker, the mysterious godfather, Herr Drosselmeyer, plays quite a small role. In this one, he was the ringmaster of the show and right from the start, it was he who led the audience into the ballroom, ‘commanding’ the screens to open and village scene to fade away. The first scene of The Nutcracker is lovely, with the children playing and the parents dancing. This one was particularly special because it seemed so natural – with almost equal attention to the acting/characterisation and dancing. I was struck right from the start by the exquisite performance and very strong dancing of the male lead dancing Clara’s father. The scene also had several delightfully authentic Korean touches – like the fact that everyone arriving and leaving would bow to each other and the important part played by the grandparents in the scene. It’s also great to see choreography that’s not scared to introduce little touches of modernity and humour. The battle between the mouse-king and the nutcracker included some fairly modern hip-hop-style moves from the mice, and when two of them were injured in the battle, some of the other mice come in with a huge syringe to revive them.

At the end of the first scene, Herr Drosselmeyer emerged from inside a large grandfather clock and, while Clara watched, made the Christmas tree grow to enormous size and transformed the nutcracker into a prince, all shown on stage with full props and sets. The set and lighting design, as well as the changes, were dramatic and life-sized, requiring very little work from the audiences’ imaginations. I couldn’t helping thinking that this must have been a really expensive production to put together. Not that I was complaining – it was perfectly executed and created layers and layers of magic.

The only bit of the choreography that I didn’t particularly enjoy was the dancing of the snowflakes in the second scene. It took me a while to figure out what I didn’t like about it but I think it’s because the dancing was too frenetic – there was a lot of focus on arm movements and it was a little mechanical, losing some of the gracefulness. I was soon distracted, however, by the children’s choir. It’s unusual, except in very large and expensive productions, to actually see the children’s choir included in the Nutcracker but it is a delightful part of the original score and definitely adds to the ballet.

Act II of the Nutcracker, with the sweets dancing dances from different countries, never fails to delight. This production included the traditional Arabian and Spanish dancers, as well as the Chinese and Russian but also included some traditional Korean dancers. All the dancers were good but some of the touches and some of the choreography raised this part of the ballet above the norm. The Chinese dancers, for example, were accompanied by the cutest, funniest little silver dragon who completely distracted the audience with its antics. The Russian dancers, perhaps because Korea is so much closer to Russia and the culture is therefore more familiar, seemed so incredibly happy and so authentic. The Korean dancers were the highlight for many of the audience and were fascinating to watch. The woman danced with an hour-glass-shaped drum that she carried over her shoulder and beat and used to swing herself around in the turns. More spectacular was a male dancer wearing the hat topped with what must have been a 6-foot long white streamer, from the Korean traditional farmer’s dance, which he swirled around as he jumped and danced with acrobatic movements across the stage. It really added a unique and impressive aspect to this part of the show. The dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Waltz of the Flowers were exquisite. There was none of the awkwardness of the snowflake dance. Instead, we were whirled away in a beautiful, flowing, elegant display of classical ballet. The prince danced, too, and was perhaps one of the most impressive dancers there. His leaps were perfectly executed, his movements both athletic and elegant and he was incredibly light on his feet. I was almost a little sad, when Her Drosselmeyer reappeared and transformed the magical world back into the ordinariness of Clara’s bedroom and she woke with her beloved Nutcracker.

The only negative about the show for me was the fact that, not surprisingly, so many parents had brought their young children and a few of them became restless during the third act. Still, even children chattering a little couldn’t really detract from this magical performance. The audience didn’t stand up – perhaps standing ovations are not done here – but the performers received three curtain calls and it was obvious that everyone was enchanted. Including me. I left humming ‘O come all ye faithful’, which they played as the audience was filing out, and full of the joy and magic of ballet and Christmas. In terms of the dancing, although I loved almost all of it, I was particularly impressed with the male leads. Perhaps just because there aren’t very many strong male dancers in South African ballet, these men blew me away. Clara’s father (danced, I think by Jeong Woon Sik) and the Prince (Kim Sung Hun – although both those names may be wrong) were both excellent.

I had originally tried to get a group together to go to the show but they all had a thanksgiving dinner planned. I’m so glad I went on my own anyway. It was a delightful. I joined some of my friends afterwards, though, and we ended up sampling a very different kind of Korean entertainment. Since I arrived here, I’ve been meaning to go to a Noraebang – a Korean karaoke room. Last night I went with three friends to try one out.

The others had all done this before but I was a Noraebang novice. This is a little different to the karaoke I’m used to at home. Instead of singing in front of a large (and not very attentive) audience in a crowded bar, each group gets a private room. In the room are comfortable couches arranged around a table and TV. On the table are a couple of books with lists of songs and a control console which you use to choose your song, as well as a tamborine. The range of songs is bizarre but there are always some fun ones. Once you’re chosen your song, one or two people pick up the mics and sing their hearts out. Not that you really hear a lot of what they’re singing – volume is permanently turned up rather high and the mics have some sort of built in reverb, so everyone sounds a little like a bad K-pop star. But that’s probably part of the fun. The four of us had a great time. We sang all sorts of things, from Moulin Rouge and Bon Jovi to Mariah Carey and Neil Diamond. In honour of the season, we also included a couple of Christmas numbers. We had a particularly funny moment when Christina found something called ‘The Christmas Song’ by Nat King Cole and we all watched as she put it on, not sure what to expect and then all jumped up at the same time and started singing at the tops of our voices as the words ‘Chestnuts roasting on an open fire’ appeared on the screen. Time really does fly when you’re having fun. After an hour and a half we didn’t even notice passing, we finished off with the almost obligatory ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. We said goodnight and I headed home to dream sweet dreams of chestnuts, princes, nutcrackers and sugar plum fairies.

Tchaikovsky and a Noraebang (but not at the same time)

It seemed appropriate that a week that began with Puccini should end with Tchaikovsky. I have decided, quite happily I must add, that if it’s too cold to explore outdoors, the arts will be my substitute source of moments of wonder, so after a brunch opera on Monday, I spent Saturday night at the ballet.

Ballet has not always been a part of my life. I wasn’t one of those little girls who spends all her childhood years dreaming of tutus and pirouettes. I’ve been involved in dance in one form or another for years but it wasn’t until I became a regular Festino that I discovered the joy of ballet. There is a full ballet every year at Fest, usually performed by the Cape Town Ballet Company accompanied by one of the Johannesburg Orchestras, although they have on occasion had the South African Ballet Theatre and the Cape Philharmonic. Over the years, I’ve seen various ballets, including Coppelia, Don Quixote, The Nutcracker and, my favourite, Carmen.

This is the first time I have seem ballet outside of South Africa, so I was quite excited. I was also very nearly late. I somehow got it into my head at some point during the week that this was a 7:30pm ballet instead of a 7pm start and it only occurred to me to check at about 6:15pm on Saturday, while sitting calmly sewing a missing button back onto my coat. In a panic, I finished getting ready, rushed down the hill, drew money and grabbed a cab. Luckily, the venue, the Suseong Artpia, is literally 10 minutes from my house, so I was (just) in time to get a ticket and be seated before the start of the show. Tickets ranged from 20000 won (for seats in the balcony) to 40000 won (for the main block of seats right in front of the stage). I picked the middle-ground of a 30000 won ticket (R190), thereby avoiding at least some of the many, many children and also avoiding being close enough to see the dancers sweat.

Suseong Artpia is another great venue. The main auditorium, the Yongi Hall, seats nearly 1000 people (including the large 2nd floor balcony) and has lovely, lovely acoustics. When I first took my seat, I wasn’t sure if they would be using a live orchestra. Most of the information for these shows is in Korean so it’s always a bit of a guessing game. Then I saw the top of a harp appear and heard them tuning up and was glad. Ballet is always better with live music.

This ballet was performed by the Seoul Ballet Theatre, with original choreography by James Jeon. The first impression I got was of a large production. As we waited for everyone to settled and the ushers rushed around with extra cushions for small children, I had a chance to notice that even the front of the stage was part of the set, with large nutcracker figures stretching from the stage to the ceiling on either side and the clock face hanging in the middle at the top. The curtains weren’t closed. Instead a screen showed a village with snowflakes falling (lights) and the words ‘Merry Christmas’ in lights across the middle of the screen. I felt the tingly joy of anticipation and magic.

The Nutcracker opens with families of mothers and fathers and children arriving at a Christmas Party in all their winter finery. From the first moment, with the orchestra sweeping the audience up in waves of beautiful music, the dancers carried us into a magical world with perfect characterisation and attention to detail. In some performances of the Nutcracker, the mysterious godfather of Clara and Fritz, Herr Drosselmeyer, plays quite a small role. In this one, he was the ringmaster of the show and right from the start, it was he who led the audience into the ballroom, by ‘commanding’ the screens to open and village scene to fade away. The first scene of The Nutcracker is always lovely, with the children playing and the parents dancing. This one was particularly special because it seemed so natural – with almost equal attention to the acting/characterisation and dancing. I was struck right from the start by the exquisite performance and very strong dancing of the male lead dancing Clara’s father. The scene also had several delightfully authentic Korean touches – like the fact that everyone arriving and leaving would bow to each other and the important part played by the grandparents in the scene. It’s also great to see choreography which is not scared to introduce little touches of modernity and humour. The battle between the mouse-king and the nutcracker included some fairly modern hip-hop-style moves from the mice, and when two of them were injured in the battle, some of the other mice come in with a huge syringe to revive them.

At the end of the first scene, Herr Drosselmeyer emerged from inside a large grandfather clock and, while Clara watched, made the Christmas tree grow to enormous size and transformed the nutcracker into a prince, all shown on stage with full props and sets. The set and lighting design, as well as the changes, were dramatic and life-sized, requiring very little work from the audiences’ imaginations. I couldn’t helping thinking that this must have been a really expensive production to put together. Not that I was complaining – it was perfectly executed and created layers and layers of magic.

The only bit of the choreography that I didn’t particularly enjoy was the dancing of the snowflakes in the second scene. It took me a while to figure out what I didn’t like about it but I think it’s because the dancing was too frenetic – there was a lot of focus on arm movements and a little mechanical, losing some of the gracefulness. I was soon distracted, however, by the children’s choir. It’s unusual, except in very large and expensive productions, to actually see the children’s choir included in the Nutcracker but it is a delightful part of the original score and definitely adds to the ballet.

Act II of the Nutcracker, with the sweets dancing dances from different countries, never fails to delight. This production included the traditional Arabian and Spanish dancers, as well as the Chinese and Russian but also included some traditional Korean dancers. All the dancers were good but some of the touches and some of the choreography raised this part of the ballet above the norm. The Chinese dancers, for example, were accompanied by the cutest, funniest little silver dragon who completely distracted the audience with it’s antics. The Russian dancers, perhaps because Korea is so much closer to Russia and the culture is therefore more familiar, seemed so incredibly happy and so authentic. The Korean dancers were the highlight for many of the audience and were fascinating to watch. The woman danced with an hour-glass-shaped drum that she carried over her shoulder and beat and used to swing herself around in the turns. More spectacular was a male dancer wearing the black hat topped with what must have been a 6-foot long white streamer, from the Korean traditional farmer’s dance, which he swirled around as he jumped and danced with acrobatic movements across the stage. It really added a unique and impressive aspect to this part of the show. The dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy and the Waltz of the Flowers were exquisite. There was none of the awkwardness of the snowflake dance. Instead, we were whirled away in a beautiful, flowing, elegant display of classical ballet. The prince danced, too, and was perhaps one of the most impressive dancers there. His leaps were perfectly executed, his movements both athletic and elegant and he was incredibly light on his feet. I was almost a little sad, when Her Drosselmeyer reappeared and transformed the magical world back into the ordinariness of Clara’s bedroom and she woke with her beloved Nutcracker.

The only negative about the show for me was the fact that, not surprisingly, so many parents had brought their children and a few of them became restless during the third act. Still, even children chattering a little couldn’t really detract from this magical performance. The audience didn’t stand up – perhaps standing ovations are not done here – but the performers received three curtain calls and it was obvious that everyone was enchanted. Including me. I left humming ‘O come all ye faithful’, which they played as the audience was filing out, and full of the joy and magic of ballet and Christmas. In terms of the dancing, although I loved almost all of it, I was particularly impressed with the male leads. Perhaps just because there aren’t very many strong male dancers in South African ballet, these men blew me away. Clara’s father (danced, I think by Jeong Woon Sik) and the Prince (Kim Sung Hun – although both those names may be wrong) were both excellent.

I had originally tried to get a group together to go to the show but they all had a thanksgiving dinner planned. I’m so glad I went on my own anyway. It was a delightful. I joined some of my friends afterwards, though, and we ended up sampling a very different kind of Korean entertainment. Since I arrived here, I’ve been meaning to go to a Noraebang – a Korean karaoke room. Last night I went with three friends to try one out.

The others had all done this before but I was a Noraebang novice. This is a little different to the karaoke I’m used to at home. Instead of singing in front of a large (and not very attentive) audience in a crowded bar, each group of people gets a private room. In the room are comfortable couches arranged around a table and TV. On the table are a couple of books with lists of songs and a control console which you use to choose your song. The range of songs is bizarre but there are always some fun ones. Once you’re chosen your song, one or two people pick up the mics and sing their hearts out. Not that you really hear a lot of what they’re singing – volume is permanently turned up rather high and the mics have some sort of built in reverb, so everyone sounds a little like a bad K-pop star. But that’s probably part of the fun. The four of us had a great time. We sang all sorts of things, from Moulin Rouge and Bon Jovi to Mariah Carey and Neil Diamond. In honour of the season, we also included a couple of Christmas numbers. We had a particularly funny moment when Christina found something called ‘The Christmas Song’ by Nat King Cole and we all watched as she put it on, not sure what to expect and then all jumped up at the same time and started singing at the tops of our voices as the words ‘Chestnuts roasting on an open fire’ appeared on the screen. Time really does fly when you’re having fun. After an hour and a half we didn’t even notice passing, we finished off with the almost obligatory ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. Outside, we said goodnight and I headed home to dream sweet dreams of chestnuts, princes, nutcrackers and sugar plum fairies.