Words of warning and welcome:

This is very much my blog, so don't be surprised if this doesn't follow accepted patterns and norms. Obviously it started out as a blog about my cross-dressing but it has developed a great deal since then. It is a place where I can be anonymous and honest, and I appreciate that.

It will deal with many things and new readers would do well to check out the New Readers' Page above this and the tag down there on the right. Although there's nothing too bad in here there will be adult language, so be careful. If you think this needs a greater control, please let me know. Thank you!

Tuesday, 9 April 2013

Dancing Alone

I had a wonderful time at work today. Let me clarify: we're on holiday and I went into work to get some clear time marking without the family on hand to make it harder and make me all guilty. Not that the family make me guilty, you understand, I feel guilty when I can't do things with the kiddlies when I'm in the house and they are too. So, off to work it was.

I took Margaret Thatcher: The Iron Lady in too, as I haven't seen it and, as I teach a course on her and she's just died, it seemed like the right thing to do. I watched it as I did the marking and enjoyed it with the clever conceit that allowed it to be entirely from Thatcher's perspective - thus allowing some heavy distortion of key moments and facts - which I found, well, clever. Not sure how many people will have spotted that, but hey, whatcha going to do?

Anyway, I listened to some music after that whilst marking and, because I was alone, I cranked up the volume. When the track below came on I had an urge to move.


I should explain: when I was single, hell, before I had children, I used to do this all the time. I would get all caught up in the music that I played to help me work and then would suddenly launch myself off my seat into some mad escapade of jerky movement that must have looked like I was having a stroke or a fit or a seizure or something. I can't dance. I did ballroom dancing when I was younger than five and enjoyed the dance sessions at primary school more than the rest of my class. But each came to nothing and, like most things, I therefore did not do it much. My own dancing I rapidly took into my private world. I don't know precisely why I did that, but I can guess that my parents thought my dancing laughable, in much the same way they did my singing.

Oh GOD yes. So much yes I can't contain the YES.
At school I was told to mime lest my voice put others off (no, really) and when it came to rhythm I was mocked a bit for having none. When I was going out with friends at Uni I didn't really dance, when I did it was laughed at so I turned it into a joke. When with Toby I let my dance out properly and she was amused at first before latterly telling me I was embarrassing her. So, yes, my dancing is very, intensely, private. Tilly has laughed at my dancing once. I have not shown her again.

At work, in the room, I was alone and unobserved. So I danced. With my eyes closed and my limbs doing whatever the hell they wanted to. And I realised how much I've missed it.

I want to dance again. In a dress. With heels. And a wig.

I want to dance again.

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