Tonight's treat: The Animals and Children Took to the Streets by 1927 at the National Theatre.

Another of these shows that had been on my hit list for approx two years. So guess what I'm going to say?

A hugely clever company. Gorgeous animations. Most beautifully art directed. Like a Tim Burton movie that had mated with The Illusionist to produce a visual feast with a bit more compassion than the man who felt his wife looked like a monkey. Technically, it was stunning.

The story? Sad and bleak. Am I letting my yearning for a happy ending cloud my judgement? Daresay. I anxiously read the critics when I got in - for fear I'm being stupid again. And ok, that was interesting as I'd wondered if it might have felt more topical in 2010.

But actually, I suspect it's that age old problem that I have with the gap between my expectation (vast) and the reality. Which can be excellent in many cases but still never quite superlative enough for my four year old waiting for Father Christmas hopes.

I can take consolation from Mr Eyre (again). He says he spends much of his life travelling to theatres:

"but more often than not, I travel in hope and arrive in gloom".

I both travelled and arrived in hope. The show began and I was mostly delighted.

But I didn't cry.

Aye, there's the rub.