Tripping the light fantastic

What a fabulous, knockabout, hilarity-filled, car crash of a dance class it was last night. We're at a point in the routine that interweaves:

• each showgirl doing the same thing but one beat apart
• different showgirls doing different things at the same time
• and all of us doing the same thing, trekking in a line like a little series of linked elephants and trying our damnedest not to kick each other in the kneecaps.

It's a surefire recipe for gales of laughter and squeaks of disbelief that we can get the same simple step wrong, time after time after time. To the shouted serenade of "bob flick bob flick bob flick bob flick HALF MOON!" by the Sparkly Bra Pixie and me, we make our way across the room, different showgirls going up and down randomly like a little series of undulating caterpillars.

It's a joy to behold.

In other news, the slow, intertwined grind that was testing the troupe last week is now being managed with aplomb.

Next week, we'll be on to some high kicks and a crisp "ta dah" that'll have the unwary chopping each other off at the ankle.

Poetry in motion, my lovelies, poetry in motion.

Yours, still grinning like a loon,

Burlicious x