My first morning with a ridiculously early start, cold linoleum and myriad shoes.

The one where my Dad delivers coffee and Marmite in catering size jars!

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

Strange latin phrases, weekend visits to my family and cuddling my sister.  Dancing on the staircase.

Being at a Ballet School involves many rituals.  You also have to know your place in the hierarchy.  This is where Aprons came in.  Your apron and National Skirts were part of you. Life evolved around the seamstress who inhabited a cramped and warm space at the top of the school, a sort of haven for me. . . .

It seems young ballet dancers need to learn about washing tights with fabric softener and how to put clothes on in a hurry.

My 'Pygmalion' moment when I learn to 'speak posh', learn how to read & write at last and secret moments with my parents and baby sister Gaynor in the Tuck Box room. 

We loved Fire Drills which were always so exciting and after lights out.  Nothing however prepared us for performing tap dance routines with John Noakes and Roy Castle on our own theatre.

This is the one about the incredibly ethereal lady who inhabited our Blue Pond and school corridors at night.  Also the strange powers of levitation at our fingertips.