At last

Seven years, seven months, and a little bit more ago, small god-daughter was born. I determined then that I would take her to see The Nutcracker in London when she was old enough to last through it and young enough to find it magical.

I had hopes of taking her last year, but the tickets vanished like snow off a wall. This year I got in early, and booked months ago. The tickets were for Saturday, 13 December.

We couldn't have known that my back would start ouching towards the end of the week. We couldn't have known that Little Moppet would have all the energy knocked out of her by a virus. The whole thing was beginning to look precarious.

However, on Friday morning I could walk. I had difficulty getting up out of a chair, but once up, I was OK. Off I went to London to a very nice hotel and an evening of sitting by a window on the world, watching London go by while I drank coffee served by people who called me 'Madam'. On Saturday morning I got a call from Little Moppet's father. She was right as a trivet and ready to go.

We did it. We met up at Waterloo and went to the theatre in a real London cab driven by a real London cabbie. There was time before the theatre to go to Trafalgar Square and admire the Christmas tree sent by the people of Norway. We looked at the lovely sculpture of the newborn Jesus outside St Martin-in-the-Fields, watched street entertainers, and even nipped into the National Gallery. Then we were in our seats at the theatre, and the magic began.

We gasped at the snow effects and laughed at the naughty boys. We clung together as the Mouse King attacked the Nutcracker Prince, loved the whirling snowflakes, gasped at the Spanish and Russian dancers, and gazed spellbound at the beautiful pas de deux. When we finally left the theatre, we were full of sparkle. We will remember it always.