Sisters, sisters...

Well, using all the modern tools at our disposal (tape measure; old rope; chairs) we have mapped out in our dance hall the shape of the stage that we'll next be performing on. It's the showgirl equivalent of having a couple of piled up pullovers on the grass of a beaten-up playing field and pretending that they're goalposts.

February's stage is not without its challenges and constraints. The only way that we can get all our showgirls on to our mock up stage and visible to the audience is to dance very close to one another.

Like, veeeeery close.

We have positioned behind the three of us a line of three showgirls with noticeably superior leg length to our own. The net result of this is that, when we are all bent over, rear end to the audience, our faces are nestled cosily in between a line of buttocks. And if all three of us fling out our arms fully when facing front, we're in danger of clipping each other soundly around the ear.

It made me think of that old Hollywood number "Sisters, sisters", but a comedy version where we vie for stage space and swat each other out of the way with our boa and the odd backhander. I tell you, our peripheral vision is having to work overtime!

On the other hand, having all those yummy showgirls dancing in that intimate little space, all "up close and personal", looks bloomin' delicious, it really does.

Yours, wedged into lusciousness,

Burlicious x