When I was the age my toddler is now, my mum signed me up to ballet lessons. I loved them.

Ballet was a big part of our Saturday morning routine throughout my childhood. The walk along the leafy Bristol streets, hand in hand with my mum, chattering away. The smell of new ballet shoes and the excitement of visiting the dance shop with all its multi-coloured tutus. Sitting in a freezing church hall practising “good toes, naughty toes” before getting onto the fun stuff – the jumps and the routines.

Parenthood has a habit of bringing all the best bits of our own early years into sharp focus. I can still hear the rip as my friend shredded my pink tutu, made lovingly by my mum, during one of the many shows we put on for the adults (who were probably incredibly bored at the time but did a great job of hiding it). I can still feel the scratchy net, deliciously puffy and rigid against my skin, as I proudly pointed my toes and imagined myself the lead role in Swan Lake. Continue reading »