I remember the very first time I saw
the ballet, 'Les Sylphides.' Its ethereal beauty
and flowing white costumes, where the performers
were required not only to dance with perfection
of line, musicality and feeling, but also in
absolute unity with the ensemble.

I remember when the curtain went up we all gasped -
the setting was a glade bathed in moonlight - there
was a blue mist emanating from the stage and slowly
the dancers began to move on pointe. I could
barely breathe. It was magical. It remains my favourite
ballet to this day.

Lovely Foxy, aaaalmost enough to get me to the ballet.

My second favorite moment in music was seeing My Bloody Valentine. 60 minutes of guitar squall in a wall of sound over a furious beat, but with a perfectly mixed flute! weaving beautiful melodies in and out of the storm. These snatches of simple melody thru the rage of guitar were transporting. Like waking after a pleasurable dream with the barest hint of remembering but feeling fantastic and trying to recall just why.

The SMH reported the next day that it was like an out of body experience.

Curious and enthralling at the same time.

Talking about wild guitars ...

Another magical moment for me was
my introduction to flamenco dancing.
Luisillo and his Spanish Dance Theatre
in 1976 (I think). I had goose-bumps
watching the fiery, passionate and
blood-stirring performance.

I even went backstage and got his
autograph (sigh).

Musicals are another favourite of mine.
From "Cabaret," to "Chorus Line,"
to "Fiddler," to "Cats," to "Wicked."
And who can forget, "Phantom of the Opera?"
Or dancing in the aisles to "Buddy," or
"Mamma Mia?"

Then there's always Reg Livermoore - mesmerizing
evenings spent with Reg - and his ability to
make you laugh and cry.

Peter Ustinov's one man shows - where time simply flew.

Memories ...so many of them.

Back to sublime moments - but this time with a non-musical theme.

I've never made a secret of the fact that I was married for 17 years to a guy whose happiest times were notched up dragging me round the house by my hair or bouncing me off walls.

But I remember a day when He had been sober for three weeks and had actually come to the deserted beach with us.

He was wandering the nearby rocks and had discovered a tepid rock-pool that somehow exactly fitted the curves of my body and in which I was lying. Our brown and naked baby was in a tiny pool of his own cooing as brilliant green and wafting red anemones lazily closed their fronds to make his fingers disapear.

The sky was cerulean, African blue and my huge yellow-eyed, ink-black dog was etched against a buttery yellow background of sandhills as he pushed his silly snout under the water vainly trying to catch tiny, scuttling crabs.

Out of nowhere I suddenly realised that this was Happiness. As clearly as if it was a voice-over I heard my own thought saying "I am Happy" (Yep, with a capital letter an' all). I remember also thinking that it didn't matter if I died right then because that one, sublime moment was so perfect it made my whole life worthwhile.

Of course, the next week He was back on the booze, I was sporting a couple of fresh bruises, the baby had pneumonia and I discovered that the constant indigestion I'd been suffering would end in about eight more months.

But that one, perfect, shining moment remains one of my most precious treasures to this day.