Petrea Gibbins School Of Dancing

Exciting times ahead in Sunnybank as classes resume soon. Are you looking for a dance style that will unlock your child's full potential and channel their boundless energy? Highland dancing, while a traditional style of dance, has plenty for everyone from 3yrs+. MacGregor Highlanders offer performance opportunities, plus participating in examinations and Competitions or simply for social interaction and making friends.
Email [email protected]
Or TEXT 0401371724 and leave a message.

Looking for something to soak up all of that energy your child managed to accumulate each week? Or perhaps to work on co-ordination, "crossing the centre line" or to improve balance and stability? Highland dancing accomplishes all of that.

Highland Dance classes in the Sunnybank area. Boys and girls all ages are welcome. February free for all new dances. Participate in multicultural performances, competitions, displays.or local community events. Highland dancing is about trying something new, building stamina, fitness and technical dance strength. Dance shoes and performance outfits supplied by the studio.
If interested please PM or email [email protected] for more info.

An interesting and beautiful story

While filming Schindler's List, Steven Spielberg was drowning in darkness. Then Robin Williams started calling—just to make him laugh.1993. Kraków, Poland. Steven Spielberg was making the film he'd avoided for years—Schindler's List, the story of Oskar Schindler saving over 1,000 Jews during the Holocaust. It was a film he felt obligated to make, a story that needed to be told, but one that would exact a terrible emotional price. Day after day, Spielberg was surrounded by images of cruelty, suffering, and death. He filmed at actual Holocaust sites, including Auschwitz. He worked with survivors who shared their memories. He recreated horrors that human beings had inflicted on other human beings. The weight was crushing. Spielberg has described those months as some of the darkest, most emotionally draining of his life. He would finish a day's shooting and return to his hotel room drained, quiet, overwhelmed by what he'd spent the day depicting. Then the phone would ring. On the other end: Robin Williams. Without warning, without schedule, Robin's voice would come crashing through—jokes, silly voices, wild improvisations he'd make up on the spot. Sometimes it was celebrity impressions. Sometimes it was absurd scenarios. Sometimes it was just pure, chaotic comedy genius. And suddenly, Spielberg—who moments before had been sinking into despair—would be laughing so hard he could hardly breathe. This wasn't a one-time thing. Robin Williams called regularly throughout the production. Spielberg later said those calls weren't just funny interruptions. They were lifelines. Robin seemed to have an instinctive sense of when his friend was sinking too deep into the darkness. He'd call at exactly the right moment—not to distract Spielberg from the work, but to give him the strength to survive it. The calls became part of Spielberg's routine. Part of how he endured. He'd finish a harrowing day of filming, return to his room, and wait. Sometimes the call would come. And when it did, Robin would pull him back from the edge. Spielberg has told this story many times over the years, always with deep gratitude. In one interview, he said: "When I was in Poland making Schindler's List... Robin knew I was in trouble. He would call me late at night after I'd come home and do voices, and he'd call as Elmer Fudd, or he'd call as Donald Duck, or he'd do an impersonation, and I would just literally bend over in laughter and that was just genius. That was genius that man had. "Think about that for a moment. Robin Williams, without being asked, recognized his friend was struggling and decided to help—by calling, night after night, to make him laugh. Not for publicity. Not for recognition. Just because that's what friends do. People who knew Williams weren't surprised. This was consistent with who he was—someone who used his gift for comedy not just to entertain, but to heal. He visited troops overseas. He performed at hospitals. He made time for people who needed laughter. But this was different. This was sustained, private support for a friend going through something unbearable. No cameras. No audience. Just one brilliant comedian using his gift to help another artist survive his most difficult work. The impact was profound. Spielberg has said those calls gave him the strength to continue. That without them, he's not sure he could have finished the film. The darkness was that heavy. But Robin's laughter was a rope thrown into the pit—something to hold onto, something to climb. Schindler's List went on to win seven Academy Awards, including Best Picture and Best Director. It's widely considered one of the greatest films ever made and one of the most important Holocaust documents in cinema. Spielberg donated all his personal profits to charity. But he's always been clear: he couldn't have made it without Robin's calls. Robin Williams died on August 11, 2014, at age 63, after a long battle with depression and Lewy body dementia. His death devastated those who loved him—and millions who'd been touched by his work. When Spielberg spoke about Robin after his death, he returned to those calls during Schindler's List: "Robin was a lightning storm of comic genius and our laughter was the thunder that sustained us through the tempest of our lives. He had this extraordinary quality of being able to make you laugh, even when there wasn't a funny thought in your head or a reason to smile. He was such a beautiful soul, and I'm so grateful for the gift of his friendship. "Here's what makes this story so powerful: Robin Williams was at the height of his fame in 1993. He was starring in films, doing stand-up, managing his own career chaos. He didn't need to add "call Steven Spielberg every night to cheer him up" to his to-do list. But he did it anyway. Because friendship isn't about convenience. It's about showing up when someone needs you. He didn't call once or twice. He called regularly, throughout the production—months of calls, each one a gift of laughter freely given. And he did it privately. Spielberg is the one who told the world about it, years later, out of gratitude. Robin never sought credit. He simply saw his friend drowning and threw him a lifeline. This is what compassion looks like: Not grand gestures. Not public performances. But a phone call at the right time. A voice on the other end that reminds you laughter still exists, even in the darkest chapters. Robin Williams spent his entire career making people laugh. But some of his most important work—the calls that helped Steven Spielberg survive making Schindler's List—were never recorded, never performed for an audience, never turned into material. They were just one human being using his gift to help another human being endure. That's not just friendship. That's grace. When we think of Robin Williams' legacy, we think of Mrs. Doubtfire, Good Will Hunting, Dead Poets Society—the performances that made us laugh and cry and think. But we should also think of the phone calls no one heard except Steven Spielberg. The calls that helped one of cinema's greatest directors make one of cinema's most important films. Robin Williams taught us that the most profound acts of kindness often happen in private. That using your gifts to help someone through their darkest moment—even when no one's watching, even when there's no applause—is the truest measure of a generous heart. Schindler's List stands as a monument to the Holocaust's victims and Oskar Schindler's courage. But embedded in its creation is another story—of a comedian who called his friend every night, just to make him laugh, just to help him survive. Robin Williams didn't just make the world laugh. He made the people he loved strong enough to face their hardest days. That's not a footnote to his legacy. That's the heart of it.

Tickets $20 each.
I need some friends to join our tables for this fun event. Trivia is always interesting. Fun night out!!
Message me or leave a comment if you would like to attend.

Entries remain open for MacGregor. Would like see more Primary and Premier dancers.

MacGregor Highland competition is keeping their entries open until the 12th of February, for anyone wishing to still enter. No late fee charged.

MacGregor Highland Competition are looking for more Primary level and Premier level dancers to participate in our Highland Dancing competition on Saturday 13th of September. Of course, all levels are welcome!!! Come and join us. Entries via hdcomps.

While enjoying your cup of tea/coffee, it's time to get those MacGregor competition entries in.