In the ear of the beholder

As it is a sad fact that our practice equipment doesn't quite match the dizzy heights of our choreography. In our current routine, we have a lovely move whereby we place the right knee on the seat of a chair and then the left toe so that we're kneeling up on the chair, arm raised high, in a sort of gorgeous Cabaret move. It looks beautiful.

Now, our homely little church hall has hard, red plastic chairs which, while practical, are a little bit like kneeling on concrete. The day after class often produces a flurry of photos of knees adorned with small, round bruises.


To our delight, some padded, "leatherette"" chairs have recently made an appearance. Careful tests last week revealed that they are a lot kinder on showgirl knees.

However, the rip-roaring chorus of fart-like noises that they produce later on in the routine as we swivel on our arse from one side of the chair to another has to be heard to be believed. Imagine a full-on, comedy raspberry, in the fine tradition of fart cushions and kids' playgrounds. Now multiply that by a number of showgirls. Now superimpose that soundtrack on the seductive picture of a showgirl troupe demurely sliding from one side of a chair to the other, hands coyly on knees. It is, quite literally a show stopper, producing tears of helpless laughter and cries of: "Oh, my God! Was that you?!"

It's hard work being a sex goddess, it really is.

Yours, parping for beauty,

Burlicious x

Lights, camera, action

Almost two years ago we performed at a Christmas Variety Show. We had, as always when out and about with our showgirls, a blast. However, we must admit that we were relegated to the dressing room equivalent of the naughty step – hidden away under the rafters with some industrial ducting and all manner of items clearly “not wanted on voyage” any time soon.

This weekend we performed at the same venue for one of our lovely showgirls and we had the best dressing room.

No anxieties about putting stuff on the floor – unlike a previous experience of changing in the gents.

No helpful barmen dashing in and out suddenly needing to get vital supplies from the fridges – unlike one experience of changing in the kitchen behind the bar.

No feeling our way in the pitch black over rolls of carpet and random bits of hardboard behind the stage to make our entrance onstage.

No MC appearing in our dressing room asking if we could tape up his trousers.

No getting changed at Burlicious Towers and then creeping through nearby gardens to appear as a complete and utter surprise, in someone’s dining room.

Our new dressing room was positively idyllic by comparison.

To top it all, we had our own photographer, the lovely Katy Paige-Mclean (who took the photo accompanying this post), with us and, boy, did she do us proud.

We’re quite taken with this new level of comfort and pampering, we must say. We liked it as much as we liked the enthusiastic chap who shouted: “Right. All back to mine!” at the end of our first number.  

Now, if we can just get someone to ensure that we’re supplied with champagne and chocolates before we start, we think we could really take to this way of life.

Yours, purring contentedly,

Burlicious x

Supporting our assets

Feathers are a-fluffing here at Burlicious Towers in preparation for tomorrow’s performance by us and some of our showgirls at the big birthday bash of one of our gorgeous number. We had a cracking rehearsal at our little hall last Saturday, excitingly fueled by cupcakes, and we finished by inviting our Props Manager to join us to take charge of the music.

Travelling home with him, we were discussing the complications of changing on the night from our posh evening outfits into our showgirl attire and back again. The unaccustomed challenge of the stick-on bra cups needed for the posh frock and the implications of that for the undergarments for the showgirl outfit were (ahem) front and centre of the debate.

“Hmm,” said our Props Manager thoughtfully, “we need a tit plan,” and he sat back contentedly for a proper muse on the topic.

There are times, Dear Reader, when that man really, really loves his work.

Yours, spreading cheer among the workers,

Burlicious x

The erection section

Can you imagine what it must be like to be a proper, professional, serious dancer? How on earth do they get through hour after hour of grueling rehearsal and demands for utter physical perfection without a jaunty bit of banter, a shared delight in individual cock ups, and a generous sprinkling of double entendres?

Much as we fancy doing more Burlicious classes than we do now, and important though it is to us to put on a bloomin' good show whenever we do perform, we are very clear that the process by which we get to our result is every bit as important to us as the finished article. Hence the delight last night at the re-christening of a bit of cane work as the erection section and the shared smiles when discussing adaptations to be made to one particular move to account for differences in arm length and in generosity and shape of derriere.

As one new joiner remarked to me at the end of the class: "You've got a great bunch of women here." Yes, we have, we really have. And that's at least half of what this is all about. If it's not supportive, and warm, and fun, what would be the point in doing it?

Yours, happily amateur,

Burlicious x