Now it's all over, I wish to honour the efforts and achievements of those involved with my very own awards ceremony (you'll be relieved to read that no phoney phone-ins nor he's-a-mate nepotism have in any way affected the resuts):

I can't help placing ballet in the same category as rhythmic gymnastics or figure skating. Whatever the costume colour or music style, you've got to produce officially-recognised positions of a sufficiently high quality in order to qualify. That's sport for you - not art.

I'll begin with Bare Bones in Action at the Patrick Centre that, like a set of Russian dolls, is in the DanceXchange, which is, in turn, at the Hippodrome. As we filed in, members of the Kirov Ballet filed out. Nothing highlights your own slouchy posture like a ballerina gliding past you, her poise and elegance undimmed by a neon tracksuit. The close encounter between dancers and civilians (to borrow Liz Hurley's terminology) continued once we got inside, because Action plumped for seating the audience along the edges of the performance space.

Just feeling the need to offer a Government Health Warning to readers every time I start typing something now ...

That was the warning about the blog about the dance about AIDS. As you do.

Well, Robyn Orlin and City and Theater and Dance Group did anyway, last night (and Saturday) at the Rep. And, weirdly, it was strangely uplifting. They managed to bring out the whole story of South African AIDS victims, not just the horror and menace, but also beauty, hope and even lots of humour. One of my favourite moments was watching Mr IDFB himself David Massingham being attacked by 7 foot condom-headed African man in a table cloth. (Before I get lynched, it's not cos I want Mr Massingham to be in any way abused, it was just an amusing sight.) There was also the videographer - who played a vital and visible role in the performance - who, having obviously felt like he suddenly needed a banana, decided that it was prudent to put a condom on it before putting it into his mouth.

Right - just to clarify something: this is NOT a series of reviews. This is a blog. This is a festival-goers diary commenting on the IDFB experience. I am not here to be a dance critic.

Good.

Now that's out of the way I can talk about what I want to talk about; the amazing Akram Khan's bahok!

I will emerge the other side of this Festival with some new observations: that dance, at its heart, is playful, that it needs a great space to play and a great audience to play with and - weirdly - that teenagers are OK. An unpredictable result.

Apparently you can't have too much of a good thing, but after last night I'm inclined to disagree. The 'good thing' in question here was Tillana Tarana - A Feast Of Classical Dance. Or a 'Feat of Classical Dance' as my hand just tried to suggest - a Freudian typo slip. Or indeed a 35-course, never-ending banquet of Classical Dance...

I've always been a bit of a purist really, in the sense that I've always thought that great performance was just great performance - it stands alone in a vacuum of marvellousness and nothing can touch it. As I discovered at Tuesday night's IDFB En Sus 13 flamenco show at the Town Hall, this is not true. Great performance also needs to be in a great venue and in front of a great audience.

As I've discovered; I now like teenagers that dance. At least, I like them when they're dancing. I had the dubious pleasure of an impromptu backstage tour at the interval and managed to get myself lost in a rabbit-warren of tantrums, hormones, glitter, shrieks, fights, hugs and squeals, so was glad to clamber back into the safety of my circle seat and watch them from a safe distance, however.

I am yet to see an IDFB show that I haven't gushed about. It's getting a bit boring. I thought the youth of today might give me something to be nasty about, but they have let me down as well, damn them.

I have to admit to a pang of disappointment as I walked past the floozy in the jacuzzi last night and it wasn't covered in scaffolding, bridges and burnt out cars. Or indeed crazy rubber-limbed dancers backflipping around the fountain.

For those of you that did not Watch This Space at the weekend, the space was Victoria Square as you've never seen it before and we were watching Hofesh Schechter company and 2FaCeD DaNcE fling themselves around a temporary construction of scaffolding bridges, stages, towers and cars. Gadzooks. A little more extraordinary than your usual Saturday in town - as amazed crowds gathered round to witness mind-bending gymnastic feats from dancers performing break dance, hip hop, contemporary dance and parkour in front of them, behind them, below them and above their heads. It was, really, a dance festival all in itself.

Bang - there it is.

The lights go down, the auditorium goes quiet, and a spotlight picks out a lone figure on stage, moving, very slowly, in white pyjama bottoms. And for the next 70 minutes, frankly, nothing else matters - apart from legs, arms, breath, movement, shape, control, balance and ethereal beauty.

I feel like I've had a decade's worth of education and broadened perspective in just over an hour - and no-one's spoken a word.