I’m lying on my back in my living room, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out if I’m ok or injured – nano-seconds earlier I was stood in my kitchen. What. A. Twat! What an utter twat!
I’d been practicing my rumba turns to try and sharpen them up – my rope spin, is at times ropey, so you know socks, shiny floor, great music why wouldn’t you … fucking disaster!
… I manage to keep the 360° turn tight and start to settle and … lose my balance, unable to unwrap my feet, I reach out to try and steady myself, but find nothing but air, falling through the doorway to the living room, scraping my tit on the doorframe on the way, akin to Del Boy falling through the bar.
So here I lie prostrate on the floor with bruised and scraped tit.
We, and by we, I mean Nick, spotted a boat named Verity passing by just outside their flat… I didn’t notice for about 30 seconds it had my name…!
I had to have my photo taken for work today – the best picture of all the half-a-gazillion that we took was this one, which was me essentially dicking around [technical term] after too many too close / wrong side / skew-eyed attempts. The viewing software on my machine at work had a few filters and, as you do, I clicked through them and loved this Burlesque one. But alas I’m not allowed to use this picture at work, as well you know “serious” required.
Today I competed in my first dance competition, ballroom at that, not Latin, which is what I’ve been focussing on more over the very short two years I’ve been dancing.
My dance teacher has put me straight in at Silver Medal level despite having not done that medal test, nor indeed Continue reading My First Ballroom Competition