There are ballerinas out there. Somewhere. Boiling eggs.

I give you my word on this. Ballerinas are heavy.

By God, you know when a ballerina’s leap is finished. They land visually like nobody else – dainty and flowery. But they land audibly like the best and rest of us. “Thud.“

Though I’ve not been landed-upon my many professionals, I’m sure ballerinas would take the biscuit, even more than a bakery burglar.

I think they have to be weighty – as a matter of function.

One can’t twiddle one’s toes incessantly, to the point of being able to launch an entire human through the air just by toe-power, without becoming immensely and densely muscular from the ankle down.

That’s why ballerina’s thud.

They’re paid to thud.

They’re trained to thud.

And they bloody well do, thud.

However, the thud is only so thuddy thanks to the silence with which they float through the air, but this is where it depends on what you attend a ballet for, because I really think the thud lasts longer than the floating.

Whilst floating is for some, and thudding is for others, I’m not a real fan of either in the context of ballet. Devastating news, I know, for the thousands of ballerinas reading this, but I’ve a priority I must ask.

Where are you? And what are you doing?

It’s it strange to think that there are ballerinas out there in the world, in society, being ballerinas.

Catching flights, boiling eggs, breaking up with partners, forgetting their cat’s name till the third attempt, and perhaps maybe even two or three other things, but all whilst being a ballerina.

I’d presume they need to stub their toes continually too, simply to ensure hardiness, so any opportunity to kick something hard would be taken too. I presume. I don’t know as I’ve never met a ballerina, but they must be out there somewhere.

Probably, though hopefully not, you’re presuming I’ve a weird focus on wanting to find a ballerina.

I don’t want to find a ballerina at all, and I’ve no intention of seeking them out. I just don’t want to be surprised by one all of a sudden when out in public.

DO you catch flights? DO you boil eggs?

And do you read a script for your feet?

The Nutcracker is a ballet over 100 years old, and there is a much beloved score that is performed note for note, as per the sheet music.

Where’s the script for the feet? Or is improvisation of the feet expected?

Are ballets scripted per flourish of the limb? Is it written somewhere, or does a choreographer tell people when to move which leg where and in what manner once the Rat King turns up?

When to thud, and when to float? And in which direction, and – remember this – with a facial expression?!

Maybe I should meet a ballerina, just to dispel these ignorancies of mine, but till I do I’ll simply have to remain vague in understanding, though I’ll tell everyone that asks that I expect ballerinas are out there somewhere, and that they do boil eggs when necessary.

And that’s just the primary ballerina, which I think is a ‘soloist’, but there are extras too, and what the hell do they spend their time doing apart from practicing to over-react to a ballerina’s floating whilst pretending that a thud isn’t about to happen.

I suppose it is like much of stage theatre – a matter of over-reacting until you’re paid, in costume, at matinee and evening performances. Acting can be brilliant, but to really pull of being a stage-extra, you’ve got to get the knack of over-reacting subtly.

Like a parsnip chip pretending to be a potato chip. Very convincing, and quite irritating too.

I’d rather be the bear that pursues the rest of them off-stage.

I could make a good bear. I’d look better anyway.

I always do when I look like someone else.

Sam