Darling, gather round and let me tell you all about the most delightful ballet spectacle of the summer! Today, 19th July, 1996, saw an utterly *fabulous* ballet event unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed. You see, the Royal Ballet, darling, has had a *mare* of a time trying to decide on the right shade of pink for their new tutus. Honestly, darling, it’s been a total fashion disaster, but in the best way possible.
The whole thing started because of a cheeky little bird – a sparrow, if you please! This little fellow flew into a meeting room where the esteemed dancers and fashion designers were meticulously, or so I thought, reviewing their plans for the new season's "Swan Lake". As if by magic, this feather-brained little thing, darling, swooped down, grabbed one of the pink tutu swatches with its beak, and off it flew. Such a chaotic darling, it landed, just imagine, on the head of Dame Gillian, a legendary prima ballerina. She gave a frightfully grand tut, darling, like something straight out of an old Victorian play. Such theatrical drama. Of course, chaos ensued, but what a gloriously hilarious moment. What followed was more hilarious than a penguin doing ballet - all the dancers started arguing about which shade of pink was most "Swan Lake"-worthy. I mean, my dears, do they truly believe that we cannot tell that a shade is not quite the right shade for them, when it's obvious? Don't they have mirror in their dressing rooms!
They spent what must have been hours, yes, literally, discussing the pinkest pink – was it bubblegum, was it flamingo, was it *that* awful salmon colour?! They even brought in the experts, a famous designer, you know the one, one of those ghastly American names but utterly fabulous nonetheless. My dears, he ended up falling asleep and then spilling coffee all over a pristine sample. And *that* got *them* giggling like schoolgirls. Honestly, I haven’t seen such a joyous time, I was almost on the verge of doing some pirouettes of my own. I've got to say though, as for *my* opinion, they all looked rather, let's just say "tired".
Well, the hilarious part of this ridiculous affair is that they have officially announced that, they, the Royal Ballet, in all its majestic pomp, is simply going to stick with the old style tutus that they have been using for the past 100 years, my dears! I can see that there’s been some tutting behind the scenes because of their terrible decision, but can anyone really be mad at this truly entertaining chaos? Not me, my darling! I have nothing but adoration for a ballet that embraces the sheer delightful absurdity of it all.
You must know, it wasn’t *just* the tutu issue though. In other news, I hear a certain celebrated dance critic had quite a tumble the other day, right at the end of "The Nutcracker". A right royal flop. I heard they called the medics in and, darling, *the man* had the temerity to have a whinge, yes, a WHINGE to all and sundry that his, yes *his* ballet boots were not the most fabulous design, and were therefore *so* very inconvenient. The man was as red as a beet. But the most delicious, delightful thing of all is that no one, including the other dance critics were *at all* sympathetic. I just *love* seeing someone as *serious* and snooty as him made to look foolish, I tell you.
And that, my darling, is how our great day has begun, a true story for the ages - of dancing, feathers, colour choices, and tumbles! Now excuse me whilst I *soar* out the door to go to the shops, because, my darling, there are new *shoes* and dresses, the brightest shades, waiting for me to discover. And perhaps, even I’ll do some impromptu tutting, or pirouette, just to add a little something *extra* to the street. See you at the ballet!