Raggatone is a pretty dangerous class to be in on any given day. I mean you have to control all your limbs at once in a very co-ordinated fashion, and try to avoid smashing the mirror with your reflection - nobody wants 7 years of bad luck after all. There is a safe haven however, it's called the mind. In your mind you can retreat to your happy place (the dinosaur bit in the Natural History Museum of course) and let your body just get on with it - I mean in my case it does its own thing all the time anyway irrespective of my very specific instructions so in energy conservation terms it makes sense to let it have a greater degree of autonomy during this one hour of the week. As a general rule this coping strategy works pretty damn well. This is evidenced by the fact that I have yet to be rendered blind by the sight of any of my ill-fated attempts to be sexy - a very clear indication of the ability of the brain to retreat and protect itself when faced with extremely traumatic sights. However, this week a couple of conspirators collaborated to remove even this option. They are called my ears and the brain of @Trixiecantswim. That brain is really like Wonderland - some of the things that you come across, just like Alice does, are truly brilliant but others are really truly terrifying. Unfortunately on Thursday the images it was conjuring were not entirely conducive to a trauma-free Ragga-sesh. And I know that I am not, for once, being melodramatic because even the Ginger one had to struggle to keep hold of the plot before it was completely lost. So apologies Sean Paul for what we did to the legacy of your song. We will attempt to redeem ourselves next week - we ate A LOT of cake to aid in this mission (having more to shake can't hurt after all).
On Thursday night, amidst the drills and the drama we took a little experimental detour into commercial inspired waacking territory, werking it out to Carly Rae Jepson's 'Call me maybe.' The result is that, as if we didn't already know it, we are now guaranteed to always be the fiercest girls in the club. So if you're out part-ay-ing with us, and trying to vie for all the attention, or trying to take us on at .. say Waack Date ... you better watch it - and here's why: We threw a waack in the air, Don't ask why, we'll never care You looked to us with our flare, And now you're on our way. Waacking to pop's not a sin, Footwerk and arms for the win, We don't care if you're thin. Cos you're not in our way. Fierce pose we are holdin', Disco pants, shoes we're showin' Hot right? Moves we're throwin' Where you think you're going, baby? Hey, we just met you, And this is a call-out, But here's the tra-ack, So go on, Wa-ack. It's hard to look right, At your outfit, But here's my ro-ound, So follow th-at. Hey, we just met you, And this is a call-out, But here's the tra-ack, So go on, Wa-ack. And all the other girls, Try to haze me, But here's my title, So follow th-at. In other words, we're pretty damn feisty down at DS - must be all the Ginger spice, and we are in TRAINING so if you want to get as fierce as us you better come down to the studio soon.
When you watch professional ballerinas on stage, especially when you're little, it is easy to get the impression that they can really fly. Then you start going to class yourself and realise that it just ain't that easy! There's all this technique stuff you've got to be able to do first - and don't even get me started on how much pointe shoes hurt - those ethereal beings up there in their pretty costumes don't let you see that bit (that's sort of the point). This can sometimes result in a bit of an anticlimax, when you get into the studio and spend more time moving like an elephant in need of a hip-replacement than a fairy landing on a tree as @MlleGinger would prefer. However, at dance station there is a solution for everything. Yes part of the solution is to work hard, keep coming to class, and listen to your corrections blah blah blah ..... but there is also Glimmer Girl! Who is this mythical mistress I speak of you ask? I cannot reveal her secret identify because ... well then it wouldn't be a secret any more would it?!?!? What I can tell you about her though is that her sparkly pants leave magic dust in the air that, like Tinkerbell's fairy dust, makes it possible to FLY! The proof of this was when on Thursday night we were all allegro-ing like the pros (ish) and gliding seamlessly from one end of the studio to the next (ish). So if you see anyone flying past you who looks like the person in the photo below on the left, make sure you quickly think happy ballet thoughts and guarantee the ENB will be calling you within the next half an hour.
