To the Sage Gateshead today, for a bit of lunchtime jazz. Sounds very pretentious, but wasn't - bands from the local college were playing, people were milling about chatting goodhumouredly, and M sat and covered herself in yoghurt from head to toe. Nobody batted an eyelid. It's an essential part of listening to music, obviously.
If thrashing arms and legs are a sign of enjoyment, then she quite digs jazz. Maybe I should invest in some black polonecks for her?