Who is this Bob?

Picture the scene:

We dance in a small hall. We have around 15 showgirls... plus the three of us. So it's pretty full.

The music is turned up LOUD.

I'm at the front, pretending I know what I'm doing.

The Sparkly Bra Pixie is at the back, chuntering instructions to showgirls near her who can't hear me to save their life.

The Voluptuous Jules is at the back or side, in her own dreamy, seductive world.

Not everyone can tell left from right.

To overcome the fact that the music is loud and that we dance without mirrors, instructions need to be short and pithy, as well as coming up with ingenious "left/right" alternatives.

Which is how we get to Sergeant Major Burlesque and shouts from us of: "Bob OUT! Bob OUT!" and "bum STAGE and bum BUS STOP!" and "TITS!" and "CARESS!!" (which, as instructions go, does seem an odd one to be shouting).

Add to that the unpredictable and recalcitrant nature of our childrens' umbrellas, and it can get a bit random in there. "WHIZZ!!!" I yell dulcetly, meaning, "fling yer umbrella open over yer shoulder in one seamless movement". And they do. Some brollies open. Some don't. Some turn inside out and refuse to turn back again. Some try to clock their showgirl on the head. Gentle chaos reigns.

It's amazing the fun you can have with a great bunch of women, some props and a dance routine.

We'll miss you until we meet again on 24th February, showgirls.

Yours, dancing for pleasure,

Bur
licious x