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The ten-strong company, as I saw it that night, was a group lean, sharp, sophisticated in the manner of its performance; dance artists of the highest calibre, who, as a collective, worked with strength and gratifying precision. They were hampered, so I saw, by works not entirely worthy of their gifts. Veil of Stars, from choreographer Andonis Foniadakis (who also designed the costumes) tried to capture the spirit of Venetian Carnivale and fairground revels, but too often it became a discotech trapped in the 1970's, (golden masks, spangly all-body stockings and the non-too-sensitive employment of the dry ice machine were pure "Earth, Wind and Fire"). One moment did, however, incite my admiration when in the final section, a girl was lifted up to be dipped through her colleagues (as in the second act of Manon) winding across them in fluid motion as a sacrifice perhaps, or a mythic deity (her final pose appeared as that of a Hindu goddess) in an act of quasi-devotion.

The second work of its double bill was Nigel Charnock's Lunatic, set beneath the moon to a medley of Glen Miller, Bach, Billie Holliday and Underworld amongst others. Pyjama-clad, the dancers blended scenes of cross-dressing and intimate music-hall dances with frequent explorations into the audience, who were required to double as clients frequenting a massage parlour ("are you a man?" the dancers screamed). Union Jacks appeared as symbols of a post-War generation, encapsulating its spirit of optimism, before becoming shrouds with which to bury the dead. A sense of desolation bubbled beneath its surface.