This is me, age 6, as my Ballerina-self.
My ambitions then, apart from wanting to climb trees, were to dance with Wayne Sleep (I did actually ask Jim to fix that for me) and to become the next Darcey Bussell.
Thanks to a neglectful Jim and the loss of Mrs Thurston (my beloved Dance teacher) to Spain, neither dreams were realised. All I have left to remind me of those childish aspirations is an attic full of trophies, medals, paper-clippings and dancing shoes. That was, however, until and old friend found me on Facebook and invited me along to one of her new adult dance classes, immediately triggering my long-forgotten passion for Ballet.
So it has been up to the loft, for me, to dust off my shoes (and my par de bourrée).
Perhaps Darcey retired just in time.
I remember the time you danced for me.
ReplyDeleteOn the edge of a hot-tub in the French Alps.
It was a special dance. The hot-tub has never been the same since.