The path taken by Michael Nunn and William Trevitt over the past decade – a journey from leading roles with the Royal Ballet to world travel with their own group; from the nicely decorous anonymity of Covent Garden to television fame as the ebullient Ballet Boyz, sometimes sending the whole matter of being a dancer ferociously up – is curious, illuminating, splendid. Serious artists – very serious indeed as artists – they have won popularity for choreographic innovation, crossing every barrier of taste and audience expectation. The Boyz have, very astutely, sold dance to a new public.

There have been no compromises, not even in the larkiness of their television manner. Nunn’s laddishness and Trevitt’s cooler presence are assets, and their demystification of the dancer’s life (Nunn passing a huddle of hugely uninterested women in the street with the words “no autographs today!”) is part of their achievement. I admire them for doing what major companies often fail to do: they make an unsuspecting audience realise that modern ballet can be enjoyed, and not on the self-regarding terms of academic dance departments. Pioneers! O, Pioneers!