What could be more russian than turning up late and securing tickets for hot cash on the steps of The Bolshoi Theatre for Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake? (Haggled down to 2000 rubles each). I am not a ballet aficionado, (to be fair i know nothing about it) nonetheless this one did seem strange. The end of each and every two minute routine saw the prima ballerina head to the curtain and lap up the applause; the hero too spent plenty of stoppage time basking in midshow groupie-given slow hand clapped appreciation, before cracking on with the next part of the two hander. The paying punters here are as a much part of the show as the lead dancers. And one feels more than a little sympathy for the chorus, and the thirty odd other swans who danced their little toes off for no more than crumbs from the adored Prima's table. And Strewth, there's a guy down there wearing no strides! As Paul Hogan once said. It's as camp as Christmas, but hooray, we're at the Bolshoi on our first Moscow night.