nursey

A rather tense car ride to my new Ballet School. My little sister playing 'rag doll' with me, my brother giving me a whole Ten Shilling note and my mother sobbing and smoking like she would use every cigarette in Surrey. Meeting 'Nursey' and finding out that trendy, short skirts were useless for galloping like a horse around a dance studio.

Crisp and formal bedding, lights out and growing home sickness with an unusual approach to bed time.

Girls behaving 'sort of badly' at night. Strange rituals involving absent Nursey and Glito . . . . .

Evenings at a girls Ballet School for borders. Midnight games, kissing practise 'girl on girl', crushes, making cheese from yoghurts and eventually sleep. . . .

My first year at Ballet School was tough and my homesickness was extreme.