A year older, but apparently no wiser.

No, not another birthday, but this year's show at London School of Contemporary Dance. Last year's performance, my first experience of the medium, left me feeling befuddled and bemused. What was going on? Did that dance have a story line? And why did one piece rely so heavily on jugs of water?

But this year as Thomsk's squeeze, Jane, was one of the featured choreographers, I was determined to enjoy and embrace the experience more than the previous time.

I'm afraid to say I failed. Despite my best efforts, I still don't understand contemporary dance as an art form.

For the most part Jane's dancers were moving in seemingly unconnected ways, with little or no narrative structure or reflection of the music.

After watching the piece, Thomas said he defied anyone to watch it and not feel something.

Sure, I felt something: confused. Oh, and the stream of bubbles falling from the ceiling at the end was pretty. And a couple of those dancers are very cute indeed.

I may be wrong, but I think the artist was looking for more than that. Indeed compared to those created by some of her classmates, Jane's piece didn't score that high in the abstract stakes.

I'm not used to feeling like a philistine. It irritates me.

I understand and enjoy literature, cinema, theatre, music and many aspects of fine and modern art. Hell, when it comes to the latter, I even get the intention behind The Oak Tree (a glass of water on a shelf halfway up the wall) and a piece called 1,000 Individual Items I once saw in Copenhagen, although I did need this one explaining.

The same was required last night.

I did have an inkling as to what it may have been about (a love triangle) but Jane treated that suggestion with the charitable good humour of a mother entertaining a young child's naive, simplistic and just-plain-wrong observation.

Yet she wasn't willing to explain her creation to me. All she'd say was that it was up to the viewer and that my opinion was as valid as anyone else's. And that's no help at all. Structure me, dammit! Impose your vision!

I don't want my hand holding all the way on this journey, but at least give me a clue as to where I might be starting from.

But no dice...

So what's my problem? Is it that I'm uncultured or uncreative? Or possibly that I'm unfeeling? After all, I've never cried over death, so something must be up with that part of my psyche.

Or maybe it's just that I've never been sufficiently subtle or eloquent in terms of physical expression. I do words much better than I do actions. Leave that to those better suited. So maybe it affects the way I see dance - perhaps I'm physically dyslexic. It'd certainly explain my cack-handedness and lack of balance. If I can't write body language, why should I be able to read it?

There is one ray of light, though - Josh has caught the dancing bug, and already has two universities willing to train him. Apparently he has exciting potential and natural talent, according to those with an eye for it.

So with a sibling wanting to go down this path, it looks like I'll get more chances to broaden my mind.

I just hope he'll take me through it step by step.