Lord of the Dance Dubai

I was as excited as a 6 year old on Christmas eve when I heard that Michael Flatley was bringing his show to Dubai.  I immediately decided I would take the family to experience the breathtaking show which honours a core part of Irish culture (turns out I mistakenly thought DH and DS2 would be out of town), so it was me and the twins, as well as a lovely Irish-Scottish friend (who competed at a very high level in Irish dancing in her day!).

It has to be said that DD was keen to see what this ‘Irish dancing’ lark was all about.  DS1, on the other hand, was not soooo bothered and would have preferred to stay at home with FIFA14 to keep him company.  Celtic friend was definitely up for it.

As the seating was ‘free seating’ we had to set off early to secure a decent vantage viewing point.  I didn’t want to be at the back of the hall looking at flecks of poodle haired ringlets bobbing up and down from a blurred distance.   Not permitted to take in an ipad, it was tricky keeping two 8 year olds occupied.  There’s only so many times you can hear the question ‘How many more minutes before it starts?’  It is truly amazing how, after the 50th time, you can block out the sound of your first born’s voice!!!

High on nachos and popcorn, the twiglets (as I referred to them in utero) were content.  An ‘aha’ moment. I now think the cutesey twosies were happy to come to the show with me for the trade off of popcorn, nachos, hot dogs and ice cream!!!!  They remember the venue for the salt/sugar bounty that was at the Michael Jackson, Cirque du Soleil show before Christmas!!!  Cheeky beggars.

5pm.  Curtains up.  Let the Show begin!

Jaw dropping, heart beating perfection appeared before our very eyes.  I was entranced by the agile, nimble, unreal speed of the footwork.  The dancers hardly inhaled oxygen as they smiled through demanding routines in fluid, mesmerisingly quick synchronicity. A frisson of excitement swept through my body.  The hairs on my arms tingled and encouraged a shiver to run down my spine.  Half way through the first half, I was lost in my reverie of Irishness and beginning to pine for home.  That was until DS1 asked ‘why did Messi change his number to number 10?’  Irritated and confused, I replied ‘I don’t know.  Just watch the show.’

At the interval, he insisted on pursuing this line of questioning.  Thankfully Celtic friend had the answer.

Mental Note: employ Celtic friend to educate me about any major football team in the world…..

After another visit to the concession stand and the kids were anaesthesised with junk.

An amazing display of glorious Irish culture unfolded before our very eyes.  Whilst DD was entranced, DS1 was not so focused.

At a critical point in the show when the dancers were at their fervoured pique, the next big question came:

‘Mummy, where was Jesus born?’

‘Will tell you later, hon’, I replied.

Once lesson at a time.  Irish culture today.  Religion tomorrow.

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