Rodger says that my hips aren’t for the faint hearted so to prove him wrong I decided to put on a wee show at the old folk’s home down the road aptly name - The Rest and be thankful.
I decided to give them a real treat and appeared in my leopard skin strictly no eating beforehand outfit. It has put a lot of women of their cream horns I can tell you.
My entrance caused quite a stir; even the TV was switched off; much to the annoyance of Archie an elderly man with poor fitting dentures.
‘Here I was watching that!’ He said as his false teeth clattered an applause. ‘
‘You got a dancer’ said the carer in a manner befitting Stalin.
Archie declined her offer of ’heading upstairs’ with a ‘you can stickit up your jumper ’ approach. The insult was like a skid on diesel, the carer didn’t even flinch.
So I told him a joke in my best Scottish accent and soon he was begging for some dancing. He said he had never heard a Scottish accent like it before except at the ‘local nut farm’ as he so politically incorrectly put it. Still at 99 years of age I figure you can be as politically incorrect as your false teeth allow you.
You see I am a natural mimic and my southern bell accent has been the pinnacle of many performances. Archie tried to hide his admiration ‘well I’ve no time for any of your pinnacles’ he said ‘I’m wantin my cup of tea.’
At the mention of tea a few of the others woke up and started to sift rebelliously behind their simmer frames ‘tea someone mention tea?’
But it was not long before I had them spell bound again with my sequined leopard skin bra and matching tea tray balancing on my head. ‘Short bread any one’ I said
And do you know not one person answered.
xxxxx
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
Charlie
Charlie says he has had a life changing experiences.
The other night he heard strange noises coming from his neighbour’s home.
Apparently the noises where coming from Maggie Stewart’s bedroom, a woman way past her sell by date with an impressive selection of tranquilisers.
Charlie says he walked into to the bedroom to find Maggie displaying bits of her wrinkled body which were best covered up and a terrified looking young man with one leg out of the window.
Apparently Maggie woke up to find the young man helping himself to her ordainments. ‘Any port in a storm’, she yelled and flashed her wares. Maggie’s a woman who’d never turned down an opportunity.
Charlie raced to the window. And before Maggie had the change to yell ‘In the nuts,’ the two men rolling about on the floor. According to Maggie it was better than East Ender’s. Then the young man broke free and with a ‘ya fud’ along with many other incomprehensible words headed for the door.
Charlie follows, tripped and cascaded down the stairs (to quote Maggie) like an avalanche of potatoes.
Charlie says his life flashed before his eyes! He says there was bugger all to see except a couple of spicy quiches and a moment by the bike shed. He said his life was like an advert in the middle of a very boring film.
Maggie Stewart still maintains she would have shown the young man a thing or two.
Not exactly on a par with the enlightenment of the Buddha or apple defining moment of gravity; but for a man who has turned passivity into an art form. I would say a potato has hit him in more than one right place. Apparently he is now dressing up as a woman called Pussie; for the panto. There first dress rehearsal was in front of the youth club from Govan; now that takes balls.
The other night he heard strange noises coming from his neighbour’s home.
Apparently the noises where coming from Maggie Stewart’s bedroom, a woman way past her sell by date with an impressive selection of tranquilisers.
Charlie says he walked into to the bedroom to find Maggie displaying bits of her wrinkled body which were best covered up and a terrified looking young man with one leg out of the window.
Apparently Maggie woke up to find the young man helping himself to her ordainments. ‘Any port in a storm’, she yelled and flashed her wares. Maggie’s a woman who’d never turned down an opportunity.
Charlie raced to the window. And before Maggie had the change to yell ‘In the nuts,’ the two men rolling about on the floor. According to Maggie it was better than East Ender’s. Then the young man broke free and with a ‘ya fud’ along with many other incomprehensible words headed for the door.
Charlie follows, tripped and cascaded down the stairs (to quote Maggie) like an avalanche of potatoes.
Charlie says his life flashed before his eyes! He says there was bugger all to see except a couple of spicy quiches and a moment by the bike shed. He said his life was like an advert in the middle of a very boring film.
Maggie Stewart still maintains she would have shown the young man a thing or two.
Not exactly on a par with the enlightenment of the Buddha or apple defining moment of gravity; but for a man who has turned passivity into an art form. I would say a potato has hit him in more than one right place. Apparently he is now dressing up as a woman called Pussie; for the panto. There first dress rehearsal was in front of the youth club from Govan; now that takes balls.
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
SHERYL BLOGS ABOUT ADONIS’S.BELLY DANCING WORKSHOP
I have just started belly dancing classes. To be honest, it was the only class left with a free space and since moving in with my mum three months ago I have been desperate for a night out.
‘Belly dancing’ says my mum. ‘Do you really want to show off your stomach?’
‘Mavis says it not about stomachs,’ I explained. ‘It’s about the music.’
Mavis sporting her new aqua blue highlights said more than that, she said it was just what I needed and after one class I’d be hooked.
Mavis is a no frills sort of a woman whose idea of treating herself is a packet of fags and a half down at the Argyll and her idea of music is anything on radio 2. But since taking up belly dancing Mavis is a new woman, she wears amazing jewellery, walks like a princess and plays Hossam Ramsey on full pelt while heading into Tescos, she’s even talking of going to Egypt!
The class is held in the back room of the Argyll, a pub more known for it’s Karaoke than anything else. Shifty, the barman is opened minded in a Mid Argyll take the mic sort of way. He’s sort of guy who thinks culture is anything written in French and Gaelic is what the French cook mushrooms in, he wouldn’t know art if it jumped up and ripped his nails out one by one. But he seemed fairly impressed when I walked in clutching Mavis’s coin belt and ordered an orange juice and soda.
The last time he saw me, I was clutching a large whisky and singing ‘Island in the stream’; trying to convince myself that losing Martin was the best thing that had ever happened to me.
Martin is my ex and he along with a calligrapher half my size is the reason for me now living with a mother who thinks her wheelchair is a racing car and her daughter is a live in home help. She’s even got me cleaning for Mr Rugby the ole boy next door.
The teacher or mentor as he likes to call himself is a young Greek called Adonis. He wears tight cycling shorts with a black sequin scarf tied in a large knot over his groin; his pelvis action boarders on scary.
‘Belly dancing is a gift from one free spirit to another’, he said. ‘Let the drums unleash the woman in you’.
I watched a class of woman unleash more than the woman in them, woman I had known for years. They looked nothing like the dancers I remembered seeing in a James Bond film and nothing like the women I see in the Coop and I had trouble keeping up. I haven’t moved my hips like that since the good old days when Martin was on the scene and into Salsa.
‘Learn to paint the music with your bodies,’ said Adonis rippling his torso to ‘Hobbik Feyya Haram.’. ‘Find the dancer within.’
Adonis showed me (among other things) how to shimmy and said I should ‘do it’ in front of mirror.
‘The last time I did something in front of the mirror’ I said, ‘was in the salsa days with Martin. It required low lighting, a sense of humour and a small bum.’ The whole class laughed, even Adonis and I have been shimmy ever since.
I shimmy in the shower, vacuuming the house; even standing over a fry pan and for a while I forget that I am cleaning.
Mum says the house sounds like an Indian restaurant.
‘Sheryl’ she says, ‘Even if you do have to show your stomach keep going, that drum beat is definitely the best thing to happen to you since that tosser, Martin left and you never know you might even loss a little weight.’
The funny thing is when I shimmy losing weight is the last thing on my mind.
****
Nefertiti replies
Adonis is gone; apparently he was caught in the Argyll Hotel handing out his ‘free gifts’ to a client. It was probably the only time Adonis was caught performing pelvis tilts with no Lycra....
Come to my class honey I’ve seen you dance and you are an inspiration for ordinary looking women. And don’t worry about your size, with the right costume you could, carry it off.
I have just started belly dancing classes. To be honest, it was the only class left with a free space and since moving in with my mum three months ago I have been desperate for a night out.
‘Belly dancing’ says my mum. ‘Do you really want to show off your stomach?’
‘Mavis says it not about stomachs,’ I explained. ‘It’s about the music.’
Mavis sporting her new aqua blue highlights said more than that, she said it was just what I needed and after one class I’d be hooked.
Mavis is a no frills sort of a woman whose idea of treating herself is a packet of fags and a half down at the Argyll and her idea of music is anything on radio 2. But since taking up belly dancing Mavis is a new woman, she wears amazing jewellery, walks like a princess and plays Hossam Ramsey on full pelt while heading into Tescos, she’s even talking of going to Egypt!
The class is held in the back room of the Argyll, a pub more known for it’s Karaoke than anything else. Shifty, the barman is opened minded in a Mid Argyll take the mic sort of way. He’s sort of guy who thinks culture is anything written in French and Gaelic is what the French cook mushrooms in, he wouldn’t know art if it jumped up and ripped his nails out one by one. But he seemed fairly impressed when I walked in clutching Mavis’s coin belt and ordered an orange juice and soda.
The last time he saw me, I was clutching a large whisky and singing ‘Island in the stream’; trying to convince myself that losing Martin was the best thing that had ever happened to me.
Martin is my ex and he along with a calligrapher half my size is the reason for me now living with a mother who thinks her wheelchair is a racing car and her daughter is a live in home help. She’s even got me cleaning for Mr Rugby the ole boy next door.
The teacher or mentor as he likes to call himself is a young Greek called Adonis. He wears tight cycling shorts with a black sequin scarf tied in a large knot over his groin; his pelvis action boarders on scary.
‘Belly dancing is a gift from one free spirit to another’, he said. ‘Let the drums unleash the woman in you’.
I watched a class of woman unleash more than the woman in them, woman I had known for years. They looked nothing like the dancers I remembered seeing in a James Bond film and nothing like the women I see in the Coop and I had trouble keeping up. I haven’t moved my hips like that since the good old days when Martin was on the scene and into Salsa.
‘Learn to paint the music with your bodies,’ said Adonis rippling his torso to ‘Hobbik Feyya Haram.’. ‘Find the dancer within.’
Adonis showed me (among other things) how to shimmy and said I should ‘do it’ in front of mirror.
‘The last time I did something in front of the mirror’ I said, ‘was in the salsa days with Martin. It required low lighting, a sense of humour and a small bum.’ The whole class laughed, even Adonis and I have been shimmy ever since.
I shimmy in the shower, vacuuming the house; even standing over a fry pan and for a while I forget that I am cleaning.
Mum says the house sounds like an Indian restaurant.
‘Sheryl’ she says, ‘Even if you do have to show your stomach keep going, that drum beat is definitely the best thing to happen to you since that tosser, Martin left and you never know you might even loss a little weight.’
The funny thing is when I shimmy losing weight is the last thing on my mind.
****
Nefertiti replies
Adonis is gone; apparently he was caught in the Argyll Hotel handing out his ‘free gifts’ to a client. It was probably the only time Adonis was caught performing pelvis tilts with no Lycra....
Come to my class honey I’ve seen you dance and you are an inspiration for ordinary looking women. And don’t worry about your size, with the right costume you could, carry it off.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)