WARNING: This post contains no rants whatsoever, and is really quite sweet-natured. don't say you weren't warned. Normal service will be resumed tomorrow.

In my secret capacity as a loveable uncle (don't let on, I'm trying to maintain this "cynical old git" reputation) I attended Watch Week at my niece's ballet class.

Watch Week, as the name suggests, is where they're all given Rolexes if they dance well. This at least, was my theory. Given that those heavy metal bracelets, and chunky watches could really slow down a four year-old, I figured Uncle Max was likely to get an early Christmas present, and so it was worth going.

Oh, OK, maybe that was just a veiled attempt at maintaining my hard-man of the web image.

It turns out that 'Watch Week' is when parents are allowed to stay and watch how their little darlings are doing. It isn't a special performance, or show, but a regular lesson with parents watching.

The class took place in a school on the other side of town, and consisted of about 10 girls and one boy, all about 4-6 years old.

Whilst my sister parked the car, I (who for once was early!) supervised getting my niece into her ballet shoes, and whilst I did this, she gave me an update on all her news, most of it ballet-related. She also showed me around where we were. I should point out at this point, that she's four, or as she would put it, "nearly five".

The class lasted half an hour or so, and even a dedicated cynic like myself, couldn't help smiling, as each child did their interpretation of each move called out by the teacher.

I snapped away with my camera, and my sister captured footage on her DV camera.

What no cynical comedy about it all? No humourous deconstruction or commentary about a society which sends kids to ballet lessons?

Yes, even Mr Grumpy has to have a day off.

And when he does, I expect he goes to watch his nieces do ballet too.