10 Dances – Part VI

“In the Mood”

Nigel, who’s been partnered with petite pro-dancer Sylwia from Poland, is also feeling the pressure of the impending big night. He’s managed to persuade hit singer Chesney Hawkes, who’s rehearsing panto at a nearby theatre, to come and be in the audience, but the paper doesn’t have the budget to stretch to get him to sing his number one for the crowd. We’ll have to settle for the one and only wave from Chezza instead. We’ve also bagged five judges for the event, including two professional dance teachers, a former Strictly dance couple and a well known TV presenter, renowned for his razor sharp wit.

I find myself going over the steps of our routines anywhere I can find some space, like the newsroom tearoom, while waiting for the kettle to boil. Nigel is the same. At one point, he says we should both climb up to the rooftop of our newspaper offices – much to the bemusement of colleagues – to dance for a photo opp, as we’ve devoted page three every day in the paper to plug our charity campaign. Bill Moffat, our Health & Safety officer, had a field day when he found out as there aren’t any railings on the roof and it was lashing down, but the Editor’s word is final, mostly.

I call up fancy dress shops to see if any are willing to help our celebs with their outfits and stumble across a good bit of fortune when I find a place which makes and supplies dancers’ costumes for cruise ship shows and the odd outfit for the real Strictly. Even though you have to earn your sequins in a proper Latin and Ballroom dance competition, meaning us beginners should technically be wearing black outfits with no embellishments, this is for fun and none of us are taking it too seriously (well we all are, but no-one is admitting that).

At the wardrobe fittings several days later, Shelley looks incredible in the vivid orange and blue sequinned and tasselled Latin dress she shimmies into. They have another dress in the same colour and I try to get it on. I can’t even squeeze it past my thighs. It’s a good job I’d secretly decided to scout out a WW2 outfit though, as we’d decided to jive to Glenn Miller’s In the Mood . . . once I’d explained to Danny who he was. The trouble is, although the uniform covers bits of me I want to hide, it is exceptionally hot and heavy to dance in.

Stephanie, who’s now down to a size 6/8 after dancing 10 hours a day with Nikos for weeks, chooses a sassy black and red dress which leaves little to the imagination but looks FAB-U-LOUS on her. I also find a beautiful black and pink waltz dress with floaty panels which fits me perfectly and only needs a bit of adjustment around my cleavage. The three of us then lark around trying on showgirl headwear. I’m mortified to see a photo of this on page three the next day, though several reporters vow to book tickets on the back of it, stating they are looking forward to having a good laugh at mine and Nigel’s expense. What have we let ourselves in for? I keep telling myself it’s for charity and at least this will be easier than running a marathon. . . possibly.