Had I ever got round to doing my 100 Things (which you never know I might get completed at some point) one of them certainly would have been:
I love watching ice skating.
I freakin’ love it. To the point where I will drag myself through slightly cheesy Disney films about it just to see the pure elegance of it all.
I don’t know what it is about it - the high passion, the pure drama of it all? The fact that the dancers have to be HAVE TO BE 100% in the moment, that the slightest little error and disaster.
These almost ethereal creatures floating across the ice, sparkling with ease and emotion, filling our hearts with… something truly magical. A but much? Maybe.
So I must love Dancing On Ice? Why no. I can’t stand it. Hate is a word I don’t like to use, but it fits pretty well. Seeing ex-second-rate “celebrities” I barely remember stumbling all over the ice makes me want to throw things at the tv… I want elegance and pureness, not ‘oops’ and high pitched laughter in the post ‘disaster’ interview. I want Bolero and Face The Music and Dance not whatsername barely walking across the ice.
Snob? Me? Hell yes.
I was watching the World Figure Skating Championships this afternoon and watched Mao Asada fall during her free skating and then come back from it to win. And I was feeling all kinds of emotion during it. Ridiculous pride for her, envy at her grace and determination and wonder at her strength, both physical and emotional.
And, yes, a small giggle when she slid across the floor.
Does this make me a bad person? Ah, who cares. I’m off to watch the Ice Princess again.
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