"And breathe… and relax… Now stand, open your eyes, turn to face your partner… and dance."

Can you always tell me that you didn’t feel comfortable in my arms? That those endless nights and days we spent trying to climb into each others souls didn’t make you feel like you had come home to stay? That the touch of my fingers grazing your arm, your strength as you pull me to you, the sway of our hips and the pounding of our hearts - that all these things didn’t make you want the world to stop?

The breath on your neck as your hand travels so slowly up my back, the half step as I accept your invitation to move into your space and the moment we connect. The smile felt and not seen, the knowing without being told, the crystal clear and the cotton candy world, the love and the lust

That all these things, now gone, don’t make me want to make the world to stop.

Just for a moment

So I can hear the music again.

So singing is quite a big part of my life. I have enjoyed doing it from the age when, as a little girl, I realised I could get everyone to look at me by doing it - y’know, real centre of attention whore activity! And I used to be really good at it. Recently, with various bad things happening to my throat and, well, just not having the unction to do it means I currently sound like a drunk joke X Factor entrant.

I was in a church choir and left after 13 years as I was a perfectionist and could hear the cracks from not practising enough, starting to show. It fell to the levels of drunk joke X Factor entrant who is so bad they get their oen novelty single released. But you will know this if you heard the poor poor effort made at the Christmahanukwanzaakah Concert. If you didn’t hear it don’t torture yourselves. Really. It’s that bad.

I am now considering two options. One: to go back to the church choir with all its politics and pretensions (or maybe it has changed? Who knows?) or Two: to go back to the amateur dramatics/light opera side of things. The last time I was in the choir was in 2000, and the am-dram? 1997 when I was chorus in Fiddler on the Roof. (yes, I could play young Jewish spinster as well as… well… any 19year old Christian girl could - badly).

I really enjoy getting up on stage and performing. I mean, obviously huge stage fright, but hen I remember the incredible high I feel and I’m desperate to get out there! I remember at school while doing a musical adaptation of Lucinda Coxon’s adaptation of Tarjei Vesaas’ The Ice Palace for a BT National Connection’s competition that I felt the high first hit.

It was during the day of the first night, I was doing work experience at the local newspaper (because, obviously, I was going to be a world famous columnist, and I got a call there. Fearing the worst I discovered my music teacher on the other end telling me that one of the leads who sick and could I learn the two songs and little bit of choreography that afternoon? Stepping up with a sure, he faxed the sheet music over (how glamorous did I feel - very!) and told me he’s drive out and pick me up.

Being a lumbering klutz I panicked about the choreography which required me to mirror the actions of another cast member (as I was playing her in the future) without looking at her and, oh, would it be possible to not wear my glasses? So remembering to not fall off the stage became an issue too. Opening night came and went and all went well. Afterwards I could hardly breathe, let alone think. I wanted more of the limelight, more of the stage. More! The girl I was understudying was back by the next night so my moment was over but it didn’t end my obsession.

Back in 1997 I organised a fundraising concert while I was in the choir. We raised practically nothing but for me that wasn’t the point. It was feeling part of something and wanting to be the very best we could be - a group effort. I haven’t felt that in a long time.

Now I need to seep for in no time at all I will be up to my head in plastic bags and trying to keep everyone organised. Nightmare. Love to all.