Murder on the Dance Floor

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The Curse of the Honest

Feeling a Right Heel

Rehearsals for 'Steam Heat' are now concentrated on the stage - makes sense since there's eighteen of us on a tiny platform (and we have to share that space with a baby grand piano). But the downside is that the routine has been simplified so that it can be done without too much moving about. Or rather, the downside WAS... the choreographer has now decided he's bored with us just moving side to side in rows, and has started putting in more complicated 'back row change with second row' type moves (I'm jealously guarding my front
row spot, and cross my fingers every time he gets that look on his face). One of the moves he introduced last week was a square chassé step1 so that the dancers in the front and second rows dance round each other.

That's all very well, but as I'm dancing backwards I can't see where I'm going. Or whose foot I've just dug my right heel into. A major clue came from the weeping dancer at the side of the stage, clutching her foot in agony where my metal tap heel had enthusiastically trodden
(my dancing was enthusiastic, rather than my trodding, I mean... oh dear...). I glanced behind me with a 'Sorry!' expression on my face, and I swear the remaining second row turned slightly paler and took a step further back. 'Murder on the Dancefloor?' enquired the girl to
my right. Hmmmmm, so Cluedo style - it was LuckyStar, on the stage, with a sharpened tap shoe... mwahahahah! Actually I felt extremely guilty and gave the poor victim, er I mean patient, some of my rescue cream.

Silence speaks volumes

Enjoying a well deserved beer after the 'Steam Heat' rehearsal, I was watching the main cast go through one of their routines, complete with confusion over who goes where, floppity arms all over the place, and startled looks around them during some of the less memorable steps. A fellow 'rejectee' joined me and asked 'Well, what d'ya think?'

Now the curse of being so darned honest the whole time is that I cannot tell a lie - but I felt it would be extremely undiplomatic to say exactly what I did think, so while I was pondering a suitable answer I went 'Ermmm...' And could my brain come up with a suitable
answer? No! So I just laughed, and my companion said 'candid as ever, eh?' Oh dear, I appear to have acquired a reputation as one of those 'brutally honest' people, whom everyone claims are great to take shopping with you because they really will tell you if your bum looks
big in that.

OK, you want my honest opinion? I'm amazed they haven't started acting rehearsals yet.

What not to wear

Time to discuss costumes and make-up. Cue much arguing and interruptions over colour of lipstick, where to find cheap material, how much hats would cost, the pros and cons of false eyelashes, what if my hat doesn't fit, how long will we need each evening to get ready, where will the dressing room be, how can we get from there to the stage, what if my hat falls off, what if my eyelash falls off, what if I fall off the stage 'cos my hat's fallen over my eyes...

Murder on the Dance Floor


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