10 Dances – part V

“You spin me right round, baby right round”

I’m back from America with only four weeks left before our big charity dance show and the pressure is mounting. Not to win, but to look OK on stage and, most of all, not fall over in one of four waltz spins Danny has been practising with me. Josef puts one night a week aside for optional extra practice on top of the three-hour Sunday afternoon sessions, playing repeat music for the jive, then the waltz.

We’ve all also been tasked with putting an extra 30-second freestyle routine on to the set jive he and Suzy have taught us, so we need to find extra time to fit that in. Dancing is becoming all-consuming outside my day job . . . and I’m falling in love with it. There won’t be a birthday card from my hubbie this year with a message inside saying ‘if you get any fatter, I will leave you’. Oh no, I’ve already dropped a dress size and am now comfortably in 14 clothes, size 12 at a push.

I’m also having the most fun I’ve had for years. Gone are the nights standing in front of the telly, doing ironing, or non-stop chores all weekend. This is my time and I feel free. I’m not alone. Stephanie, the radio presenter, has been partnered with Nikos, who you may remember I wanted, and she tells me he’s been dancing for hours every day with her to perfect a fancy floor spin move for their freestyle. She’s already lost more than one dress size and I’m convinced they’ll be lifting our version of a glitterball trophy – a statuette of two entwined dancers donated by a local china shop. Yes, this is a fake Strictly, but it’s starting to feel more like the real thing every day and I’m now not only watching every episode of BBC1’s hit Saturday night show, but have It Takes Two on record.

Danny, who’s danced all his life and competed in the UK, is a fun teacher and suggested I attempt to slide through his legs for our freestyle jive in our first evening group. It’s a disaster as I, worried I’m too old, get stuck in an undignified position on the sprung floor, while he’s doubled over laughing. We decide to spin things round, so he goes through my legs instead and debates whether or not to keep it in for the big night.

He can’t devote the time to teaching me as much as Nikos does with Stephanie, but we agree to hire a hall near his home on Saturdays for the show. This is where we can map our freestyle jive and practice the waltz over and over again. He’s already one step ahead of me, sending a text saying “I’m at the dance hall. TB.” ‘How presumptuous!’ I think, ‘I’ve only met him a couple of times and he’s already referring to himself as my toyboy’. I make a joke about it and he, looking completely baffled, replies: “What are you talking about? That meant text back.”

The pressure is also piling on with the realisation we will be dancing in front of an audience as all 450 tickets have been sold within hours of them going on sale. Gulp. This is really happening and I’ve still not found an outfit for either our jive or waltz. What the heck am I going to wear that will cover up my cellulite and allow free movement?