For F
The mediocre ballerinas of Winterton Primary School drift uncoordinatedly across the stage. I am one of them. And I am sure that I’ve just laddered my stockings after forcing my very long legs into Lisa Bolt’s borrowed tights. My pink skirt too is looking more like a hair scrunchie around my waist rather than a billowing petal. No doubt yet another detrimental wardrobe side effect after another growth spurt. This particular shambles of a dance is to the Sleeping Beauty Suite. Our wistful dance teacher no doubt hoping that the grandeur of the music would elicit some grandiose dancing. She was mistaken. Whether puppy fatted, long of limb or awkward of movement we are a fairly peculiar little bunch of farm girl ballerinas waving hula hoops which have been cut in half and covered in paper flowers. But we have a secret. We know that our sloppy pirouettes are just preparing the stage to show the audience what a real dancer looks like. We exchange gleeful glances and Meg Irons prac...