Niks aan de hand…

“Die gevaarlijke gek, dat krankzinnige brein, daarginds in Berlijn.”

Reverberating echoes of the run-up to WW II from Foxtrot, the musical. I saw it as a teenager and was highly impressed by all that darkness, and slightly intimidated. “Ridi, rada, ridi, rada!” It sounded like the alarm calls of the sirens of emergency services and calamity warnings.

“That dangerous fool, that insane brain, in yonder Berlin.”

The year before, in my 4th year in high school (which had a total of 6), we were all offered the possibility to subscribe to a theatre series in my high-school class. The series weren’t free, but there may have been a discount. I didn’t go. My dad hadn’t thrown out those invitations, which he had done with the invitation to ballroom dance classes as I later found out, but I was simply unable to find a class mate who was interested in the same series.

“If this continues in this way, I’ll never get to go anywhere,” I decided. So the year after, I signed up for the series I wanted – the cocktail series, as I wasn’t familiar with the theatre – and started going on my own. Thus, a tradition was born. I’ve never had any regrets about that!

To the contrary. There have been later years when I was living in Amsterdam, around the corner from several theatres, during which I had several series – up to six, I think – at once, sometimes leading to three or four performances in a week (but that was rare). I immersed myself in a lot of music and a lot of modern dance. Loved it!

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