It is perfectly true that, as Arthur Marshall once said of Ibsen, I am Not a Fun One. A party really is a party without me there. And Shoes, now transferred from Sadler’s Wells, is not much of a party, whether I’m there or not.

What a difference 24 hours can make. The first night of ABT’s pick‘n’mix season – 10 ballets in six days – veered from “fine” on downwards. Another opening, another show, though, and things have picked up very nicely indeed. Ballet Theatre has on display in this programme its peerless historical range, from Antony Tudor’s Jardin aux Lilas (mounted on the company in 1940), through Balanchine’s Theme and Variations (choreographed for them in 1947), his 1960 Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux and finally, and most wonderfully, Paul Taylor’s miraculous Company B: a piece that makes you want to dance, to sing, and fills you with a sorrowing pity, all at the same time.

What a difference 24 hours can make. The first night of ABT’s pick‘n’mix season – 10 ballets in six days – veered from “fine” on downwards. Another opening, another show, though, and things have picked up very nicely indeed. Ballet Theatre has on display in this programme its peerless historical range, from Antony Tudor’s Jardin aux Lilas (mounted on the company in 1940), through Balanchine’s Theme and Variations (choreographed for them in 1947), his 1960 Tchaikovsky Pas de Deux and finally, and most wonderfully, Paul Taylor’s miraculous Company B: a piece that makes you want to dance, to sing, and fills you with a sorrowing pity, all at the same time.

Was it the worst-played and worst-danced performance of Duo Concertant I’ve ever seen? I can’t remember a direr in my experience of quite a few DCs. But then the opening night of American Ballet Theatre’s London tour was a set of fine promises falling flat with a thud. A delicate new sextet ruined by the piano player. A masterpiece of musical ballet murdered by the violinist, the pianist and the ballerina. A cod-ballet duet by Twyla Tharp deflated by an unhumorous leading lady. And the only tick - inasmuch as at least the dancers gave it what it needed - was a piece of ensemble window-dressing that ticked the “modern” boxes that used to pertain two decades ago.

At last a terrific show in this year’s mime festival - Du Goudron et des plumes (Tar and Feathers), in which you gasp at the brilliance with which the French acrobatic troupe, Compagnie MPTA/Mathurin Bolze, invent a wondrously unstable world on a swinging raft that's deliciously mad and imaginative. It’s as if echoes of a children’s game on swings had suddenly mushroomed into a sphere of its own sound and motion laws, and in the dark, bare Barbican Theatre is a perfect place to watch it. Hurry - you have just two nights left.

At last a terrific show in this year’s mime festival - Du Goudron et des plumes (Tar and Feathers), in which you gasp at the brilliance with which the French acrobatic troupe, Compagnie MPTA/Mathurin Bolze, invent a wondrously unstable world on a swinging raft that's deliciously mad and imaginative. It’s as if echoes of a children’s game on swings had suddenly mushroomed into a sphere of its own sound and motion laws, and in the dark, bare Barbican Theatre is a perfect place to watch it. Hurry - you have just two nights left.

The puppets appearing in LIMF this year are by no means all child-friendly - after the mild kiddy-horror of Teatro Corsario and their hand-manipulated Bunraku creatures, the return of the much more disturbing imagination of Patrick Sims, founder and governing mad scientist of Buchinger’s Boot Marionettes, was my most-looked-for event.

The return of the Royal Ballet’s Swan Lake production coincides with the tumult over the film Black Swan, about which the company’s marketing department must be pretty pleased, even if some of the dancers aren’t. The chief surprise for any newcomers drawn to the ballet by the film, obsessing as it does about the leading ballerina, must be how long it takes to meet the Swan Queen at all.

It’s mime time in London. The new year is always ushered in by a motley of theatrical varieties, from puppets and acrobats to illusionists and mimes - it’s certainly an up-and-down ride in the London International Mime Festival. It began this week with an up in the shape of a spooky children’s puppet show based on Edgar Allan Poe and a down in the tale of an office invaded by wildlife.

It’s mime time in London. The new year is always ushered in by a motley of theatrical varieties, from puppets and acrobats to illusionists and mimes - it’s certainly an up-and-down ride in the London International Mime Festival. It began this week with an up in the shape of a spooky children’s puppet show based on Edgar Allan Poe and a down in the tale of an office invaded by wildlife.

The chasm between the top-class ballet available to London-area ballet-goers and the low-grade stuff peddled in the regions is the field where the battle to save ballet’s soul is nightly won or lost. Nothing could be more dispiriting than to see the Russian State Ballet of Siberia’s Swan Lake in Oxford one night, and the Royal Ballet’s Giselle in London the next, knowing that for many unaware Brits without easy access to the capital, Birmingham or Edinburgh the phrase “Russian ballet” implies some shamanic edict of unchallenged natural superiority. Far from it.

Busy, busy, busy tends to have been the watchword of Rudolf Nureyev’s elaborate choreographies. Prokofiev, as the most direct of musical dramatists, demanded streamlining from Sergey Radlov’s complicated scenario in 1935, but Nureyev tends to have jammed extra plotlines back in with un-Shakespearean knobs on. Thank heavens Patricia Ruanne, his Juliet for the initial four-week run back in 1977, and his first Tybalt, Frédéric Jahn, have returned to work so hard on the staging's fiddly bits as to make most of this accomplished revival seem like easy storytelling.

I was taken to task by a commenter this year who told me I should go and review music, if I couldn't enjoy dance. Hm. One takes such things to heart, but it's humbug. While piling up memories over 25 years might mean that the noise in my memory is getting more and more obtrusive, that doesn't mean you can't suddenly find the corker one night that wipes the field clean and places a new memory there which will move your yardstick yet again.