Me and Amelie...

for Knots in the String...

(Amelie – piano music for a ballet performance for which I danced on Sunday last)

Weekend before the 27th November

Asking myself for the billioneth time why I decided to perform at a ballet concert.

Terrible practice at home.

Complete mental block with tendus . Damn and blast! Hardly inspires self-belief.

Monday night.

Bad dream (nightmare?) that I arrived early for full dress rehearsal and was chatting to younger dancers and realised I was due on stage minutes ago. Frantic search for costume. Costume not in bag. Left it at home. Panic.

Bad vibes but just a dream.

Better out than in.

Tuesday class and rehearsal.

Class went well but gluteus minimus feels torn again. Joints sore after mammoth gardening bout the day before.

Ballet shoes have glitter on them from the young ones’ dress rehearsals in Studio One. Sweet.

Dress rehearsal in studio. Feels lovely with the skirt swinging as we move, and the leotard certainly gives a nicer line.

Great feeling dancing together.

Repeat the dance over and over. I remember it! Bonus!

As we go to the last practice, feel swamped with tiredness and consequently my balance starts to flag. Must NOT be tired on the day.

Our teacher wants us to have fun and says audiences are kind and will show us their gratitude and joy.

Finish on a nervous high – feels odd to be saying ‘See you on Sunday!’ not ‘See you next Tuesday!’

Wednesday.

Home practice.

Fall off balance twice. Damn it!

My balance is my bogie. Not having any right-side balance means turns can be iffy at the best of times, let alone times of tension. One foot in front of the other is no mean feat either. Hey ho!

Thursday.

Fantastic home practice. Boom boom!

Friday.

Am I nervous? Hell yes!

Belly filled with flitting butterflies and feel need to move bowels.

Hate performing in public but am doing this to push myself. Why? Damned if I know.

My fellow dancers are such lovely folk and it’s been such a thrill practicing with them all year so hopefully I’ll swing along in their slipstream and I’m mostly in the back row anyway.

Walk dog.

Do a photoshoot for a new book-cover for Passage with professional photographer, Alistair Bett.

A friend and fellow dancer calls to tell me she’s been diagnosed with a brain tumour and is to be operated on in a couple of days and obviously won’t be dancing as she must remain Covid-free. Flattened utterly by her news and send her every amount of positive energy I possess.

Saturday.

Keep busy. Drive to the city from the coast. Wash hair. Re-pad the inside of right ballet shoe. Pack bag with necessaries for tomorrow. Check and check again. Put costume in car (Ha! Will not have a repeat of bad dream!)

Watch Spooks (probably not a good idea). Adam Carter still disintegrating and I’m sure his demise is approaching with speed. MI 5 boss, Harry Pierce, has no idea Ros is a double agent for Yalta. Interesting…

Have long bath to relax, climb into bed and set alarm for 6.30 AM…

Sunday.

Gaaaaah! Alarm shrieks.

Jump out of bed. Have bowl of porridge and then spend time putting slap on face and doing ballet hair. We don’t have to wear buns (thank God!), just neat hair with no errant bits.

Drive to theatre. Get changed downstairs. Head up from Green Room for stage rehearsal.

Find our positions without one of our best dancers, (resolve to dance for her) on a much bigger stage and a blacked-out theatre.

Went okay but can feel nerves growing like noxious weeds.

Sit in back row of theatre and watch some of the other acts rehearsing.

Then downstairs to finally prep face, hair and await call. We sit in fogs of hairspray, glitter and amidst a cohort of excited children.

Call comes.

OMG! Heart, bowels, can’t hold head up straight, can’t breathe. Resolve to learn to free dive and then I can hold my breath for an age!

Up the stair past dancers in delicious floating gowns and tutus.

Passing someone in a tutu in a narrow hall is taking one’s life (and costume) in one’s hands. Tutus are rigidly unforgiving.

Directed onto stage in darkness…

… lights come up, music begins…

 I just dance…

Fit into the afore-mentioned slipstream. I don’t think, just dance and then it’s all over, no mistakes.

Elation.

Return to the Green Room and have an age to wait till the afternoon performance and so chat, eat lunch, chat again and count the hours. Wonderful few hours with the girls – we’re such a team. We think a lot about our friend. She’s in our thoughts constantly.

Prep face again, practice, make sure we’re set, go upstairs.

For me, one of the features of being able to dance in public has been the knowledge that no one who knows me knows I’m performing. By my choice, there’s no one I know in the audience. It’s a relief and removes an added layer of anxiety.

But apparently my husband is in the dress circle – I am informed seconds before I go onto the stage by someone who shall remain nameless.

My body and mind go haywire, and I do two incorrect moves in that second performance.

Never mind – back row and all. Hopefully none of the audience notice. (My husband certainly didn’t, claiming it was an elegant and classy delivery by all.)

We received loud applause which was heartwarming.

I wondered during the day, (for the 50 billioneth time) why I was doing this and when we re-entered the Green Room before lunch, a lady stopped us and said how much she loved watching our Amelie dance and how she actually had tears in her eyes as she watched. She was so honest and open in her congratulations and maybe that’s all it takes to make it all worthwhile.

As a group, one of the things we hope for is that Seniors everywhere (women and men) can be encouraged to dance. The exercise speaks for itself, the music is heaven and the camaderie tremendous.

Did I enjoy our weekend performances?

Yes.

Did I succeed at my own personal challenge?

Yes.

Would I do it again?

Meh! Ask me next year.

Performance for anyone with anxiety issues is huge. My body and mind have to be in perfect sync with music and choreography and I need to feel the team has me in their arms. It’s all about strong collegiality as much as an artform.

If it sings to my heart and soul, just maybe.

But maybe not. Who knows?

(Thanks so much for reading through to the end. And please share this free newsletter with any and everyone. Cheers and talk next week.)