Changing the way I teach

This Sunday was the final session in my Project Lift Off course before the summer break. As ever, we left the class exhausted, smelly and spent; our hair wringing wet against the napes of our necks, our muscles trembling. I like to think we also left with our adrenaline running high, our spirits lifted and our determination stronger than ever.

In Project Lift Off I’m trying to do no less than change the face of British bellydancing  (I’ve never been one for small challenges) and in our first, faltering steps I can see the beginnings of that metamorphosis. It’s not that I want to change bellydance itself - although within my personal remit is the desire to create a new style to live alongside existing ones - but to change the way ‘serious’ bellydancers view themselves.



I grew up as a dancer. From the age of five to twenty five dance was my central core - it was how I viewed myself, how I introduced myself. One of my earliest memories is of my first ballet lesson, aged five. I remember the large ornate, but slightly mottled, mirror in the classroom, I remember my pink ballet slippers, I remember struggling with the steps. But most of all I remember knowing that this was what I wanted to do. 



I lived, breathed and slept ballet throughout my childhood, until late adolescence when my ever-widening hips and chunky legs shattered all my dreams. But my disappointment led me to discover contemporary dance and, later, jazz - both of which are more accepting of larger body types. At college I studied Laban and contemporary dance and after graduating spent every day doing jazz and jazz-ballet classes in the nascent Pineapple Dance Centre in London’s Covent Garden. 



What all these dance forms have in common is a fierce discipline. The daily class is non-negotiable. Late arrival in class is frowned upon. The body is trained and stretched beyond normal limits and tiredness or sickness is just something to be worked through.



The daily jazz class at the Pineapple was taught by a fearsome black American. Entry was by invite only and those of us not yet admitted would press our noses against the misted up windows of the enormous studio, filled to bursting with dancers working their bodies to a state of exhaustion. Every so often one of us would pluck up the courage to ask if we could join. He’d look you up and down and usually say no. Then one day he might relent and you were in. But you could never rest on your laurels - one missed class you might get away with, three in a row and you were out, never to be allowed back. A holiday could be booked in advance, sickness wasn’t on the agenda.



I remember the joy and total fear I felt the day he said yes to me. It wasn’t yes, you can come tomorrow, it was yes, go and find a place at the back of class. I was finally in and I was working my body harder than it had ever been worked before. Forty-five minutes of press ups, sit ups, leg lifts, buttock clenches. Then half an hour of centre work - arms, legs, turns, jumps. And finally, for fifteen minutes at the end, the hardest, fastest, scariest jazz routine I had ever faced.



I started that class feeling out of place and not up to the job. My brain couldn’t compute the routine fast enough for my legs to keep up and my body felt weak and uncoordinated, despite years of dancing. But after a few months of daily class I was strong, supple and fast, able to manage a passable attempt at the routine and no longer feeling like I was about to die during the conditioning section.

The longest part of a typical jazz class isn’t the dancing, it’s the body conditioning, which prepares the body and gets it strong and flexible enough to dance. Ballet is the same - the barre and centre exercises form the majority of the work done. Actual dancing takes up only a short section at the very end of class. Contrast this to a bellydance class, where we typically do a short warm up and then we’re straight into ‘moves’.

This is largely because of hobbyist nature of our dance - most women who bellydance do it once a week for fun. They want to learn how to shimmy and undulate, not do the equivalent of a gym circuit for half the class. And I believe that my main job, for most of my students, is to give them a damn good time whilst learning to dance to wonderful music. After all, the vast majority of bellydance students have no desire or pretension to perform professionally.

But whether because of the hobbyist nature of the dance, or because many people view bellydance as a folk dance rather than an art form, even at the highest level we don’t treat ourselves like other dancers. We don’t work at strengthening our body, we don’t stretch it out. We might complain about our upper arms wobbling as we do a shoulder shimmy, but it doesn’t occur to us to do triceps dips in class to stop it happening.

And the truth is that for years I’ve only taught moves that are manageable for the least fit at any particular level. I have never expected even my most advanced students to do the splits or a deep backbend in class, because I know that few of their bodies are capable of either. And that goes for my own body too. But the result of my lack of dance conditioning in the intervening years between that daily jazz class and today, is that when I dance on stage I often find my legs don’t feel quite strong enough to carry me. And when I choreograph for even my most advanced students I give them what I know they are capable of, rather than what I would really love them to do.

So with Project Lift Off I decided that it was about time I started to work with bellydancers in the way teachers and choreographers work in other dance forms. To treat them like ‘proper’ dancers. To give them 45 minutes of tough, tough body conditioning in every class. To push them beyond what they think their limits are and then a bit further. To give them routines that their brains and their bodies can hardly handle. Because I know that that way we can all grow.

The truly remarkable thing for me personally, is the way my own body has responded. It’s been an inspiration and total revelation to me. I’m 54 years old and post-menopausal. I assumed I would have to direct the most demanding parts of the conditioning without doing it myself. I certainly didn’t expect my ageing body would get much stronger or particularly flexible. But it has responded exactly the way it did 35 years ago, and just as fast. Every muscle is building strength and length, I’m almost down in the splits and even my old creaking knees are responding to the demands I’m putting on them with a sigh of relief. In fact my whole body seems to be thanking me for making it work, as if that’s what it was made for.

And I’m by no means the oldest in my class. The wonderful, inspirational Ann Hall is challenging even the youngest in stamina, strength and flexibility. And I know she won’t mind me saying she’s racing towards her seventh decade.

And what of the impact on our dancing? Well, it’s early days yet - Project Lift Off has only been going a few months - but I’m already noticing significant improvements in everyone’s dancing, myself included. I’m noticing far greater flow and connection; stronger, more explosive movements as well as more beauty in grace and line; and much faster assimilation of complex routines from everyone.

We’re about to start on our next adventure - a big performance piece for the main Saturday night show at Shimmy in the City. It’s a challenge for me to choreograph for twenty dancers, most of whom have only been studying with me for a few months. But even more, to try and create something interesting and dynamic without putting impossible demands on the dancers at the stage they are right now. I've decided to create a lively sha’abi piece to a classic number which I hope will lift the audience’s hearts.

Wish us luck!

Heather and Chantel - two remarkable women

This has been a happy and optimistic week. Full of positive signs for the future for two amazing, strong women who are central to my story.

On Tuesday I got a text from Heather. Croydon has agreed to finance cyber-surgery on her brain tumour (see previous post).  She's had to live through weeks of waiting to find out if funding would be approved and I couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her - to know that a decision on her life was being made around a committee table. But now she has a date for the surgery and it's just two weeks away.  There's no guarantee it will work, but it's another stage in her fight, another opportunity to cheat the death sentence she has faced for five years now.

For the first few years of her terminal cancer diagnosis I would devise new bellydance challenges for Heather to focus on. A duet, a solo, a semi-professional booking. Anything for her to look forward to and work towards. And now there's something unbelievably exciting to stay alive for. To walk up the red carpet at a world premiere. To sit in the darkness and laugh and weep alongside hundreds of others for whom her story is fresh and new. To see that story writ large on the big screen; beautiful, funny, heartbreaking.

The seemingly slow progress on the film (and all those in the know say it's moving remarkably fast) clashes horribly with each new danger to Heather. I think to myself: "Can she last another two years? Three?" I so want her to be alive to see it. I can't bear the thought of the film ending with a dedication to her memory. So I push and worry and send fervent prayers, in the hope that one day I'll sit in a dark cinema with her, holding her hand. Marvelling.

Holding my other hand will be Chantel. Beautiful, talented, hardworking Chantel - the first of my students to go professional and the girl I think of as my daughter. With the looks of a supermodel, the work ethic of a captain of industry and a voice to shatter glass at a hundred paces there's no-one quite like her.

Chantel has battled enormous adversity in her life. And her story is a beautiful and inspiring one. A tale of childhood suffering, of the hazards of adult love. And ultimately a tale of redemption through dance.

Her terrible taste in men has been legendary amongst her friends. But seven months ago she met a wonderful man. Thoughtful, caring and utterly gorgeous, he loves her with a passion. And on her birthday a few days ago he proposed. When she broke the news to me, when she showed me the beautiful diamond solitaire he had given her, I wept. I'm weeping now as I write this. Because nobody deserves love and happiness more than Chantel.

I had given up hope that she would find someone who could give her the support and the love that she gives others. She had given up hope too - had forsworn men, not trusting her own judgement. And then suddenly he arrived. Stable, loving, handsome and strong.

Cinderella has found her Prince. Love has triumphed. The story has a happy ending.

Heather's story

Heather had been coming to my classes for some time. A quiet woman in her mid forties with a habit of putting herself down, she stayed at the back of class and quietly got on with it. She wasn't a natural dancer - her emotional reticence showed in her movements, and she didn't have the easy grace and body awareness that makes dancing seem effortless for some.

But I found myself starting to notice Heather after a while. Her dogged persistence started to yield results: her movements became more accurate, and her natural reticence started to translate into a careful softness that drew you in and made you want to watch her.

We had a hafla coming up. A hafla is a bellydance party that typically includes performances and I wanted four students to do very short solos within a group number. I chose three obvious candidates and one who hadn't expected it. Heather.

I had thought it might be a special moment for her, but I had no idea how moving it would be for me. But as I watched her go slightly pink and then a bit weepy, I started to get an insight into how dance can have a profound effect on people's perceptions of themselves. Heather had never imagined that she was the kind of person who could dance, let alone perform. And a solo? That was beyond her imaginings. It was the sort of stuff that other people did, not her.

I went home with a full heart. Feeling very satisfied with life and how much good there is in the world.

Next week, we started to work on the dance. Heather and the others stayed late to learn their solos but I noticed that Heather kept holding her side as if she had a pain below her ribs. She carried on dancing though and I don't think the matter was discussed.

She was even quieter than usual the following week. And in the break I noticed a group of friends around her. I went over and sat down and then she told me. She'd gone to her doctor about the pain in her side and hospital scans had disclosed cancer. Bad cancer. The sort of cancer they couldn't cure.

She'd demanded to know how long she had left. They said maybe four months, maximum eighteen. She cried out that she had teenage children. She'd never see them grow up, never see them married, never see her grandchildren.

The hafla was just three months away. Heather might not see that hafla. Might never get her chance to perform. The speed with which the terror of death had hit her, suddenly hit us. And brought home the horror of what she was facing.

We all hugged her and cried and hugged some more. And she looked at me and said: 'I'm going to do that dance, whatever happens. I won't have any hair, and I may not be any good but I'm going to dance even if it's in a wheelchair.'

The resolve with which Heather said it sparked a symmetrical resolve in me. I'd make damn sure that once the show was over, I'd be giving her another challenge. Come hell or high water, we'd have some kind of a performance every six months. Just far enough away for her to aim at but not so far she thought she mightn't make it.

The hafla was a success. Heather danced with a proud lift of her head. No-one outside her own class knew that her new hairdo was, in fact, a wig. And I still have the card saying: 'Thank you for making me believe I could dance.'

It was her birthday that night and after she left the stage, laden down with her birthday cake, I announced that we would be doing a big public show in six months time. Later I mentioned to Heather that I'd like her to dance a duet in that show. And left before she could argue with me.

By this time Heather was undertaking regular chemotherapy sessions at the Royal Marsden cancer hospital. Each time she'd come straight to class from her chemotherapy session. Very occasionally the chemo would make her too sick to attend, but those times were rare.

The class, and the people in it, clearly gave her strength and support. Apart from her children, I think they were what kept her going through the dark days. She never complained, never sat out, never gave in to her illness.

Her dancing improved and improved. She earned her place dancing that duet. I paired her with Janine, another woman in her forties with no dance background, but who was becoming a beautiful dancer. The two of them shared similar body types, similar colouring and the same calm style threaded with a core of steel.

In our big public show they danced a traditional stick dance from Luxor. Performing in the style of the Ma'alima, the village boss woman, each wielded a long staff; alternately thumping the floor, then twirling it high.

The calm power Heather displayed in that performance mirrored that with which she was conducting her life. We all felt the same awe watching her dancing. And watching her navigate the most frightening thing anyone can experience, with her head held high.

Thumping the ground and refusing to give in.

People often ask me what happened to Heather. Remarkably she is still alive, five years later. Advances in cancer treatment are keeping up with her illness and although she says 'one day this thing will kill me' it hasn't got her yet.

Heather's story will be a central one in the film and she can't quite believe that one day she might be portrayed by a famous actress - it's the most exciting thing she could ever imagine. The only request she has made is that she isn't portrayed as 'the sick one' - an object of pity. And we have already made steps to ensure that won't happen (several Hollywood writers wanted to do just that, but were turned down.)

I've kept Heather updated every step of the way along the film's journey. Always keeping her involved, always ensuring she has something exciting to look forward to in the future.

And then in January she went quiet. She stopped answering her phone, stopped responding to my texts. I feared the worst and I wasn't far wrong.

She's been diagnosed with a brain tumour. It's in the cerebellum and is impossible to operate on. She heard last week that she may be able to have a cyber-surgery on it - a futuristic sounding operation which may work. But of course it's expensive. She has to wait six weeks to hear if Croydon will fund the operation. But in this era of cutbacks I'm really concerned for her. If nothing else, I just want so much for her to be alive when the film comes out. To join me in walking along the red carpet to the premiere. To see herself immortalised on celluloid.

Heather is the reason why on Sunday I will be leading a group of bellydancers around the 5 kilometre route of Cancer Research's Race for Life in Lloyds Park, Croydon. Every year I get up at the crack of dawn for several Sundays in a row to teach thousands of women to bellydance as part of the warm up for the Races for Life in several London locations. I always do it for Heather (and for my husband Paul, who also had cancer, and survived.)

I'm telling you this story now because I'd like to ask you to help the work of Cancer Research by donating towards my fundraising for Race for Life. I know we can't even begin to raise the funds that would be necessary to enable Heather to have that life-saving surgery, but we can at least help towards the work of Cancer Research - a charity that receives no government funding (everything comes from donations) but that has made a major impact in the fight against cancer. So many people, like Heather, are surviving this frightening disease and living much longer than anyone thought possible even five years ago, because of the work of organisations such as Cancer Research.

I have set up a Just Giving page, which makes it very easy to donate. To get to it, just click here. Even the tiniest amount will make a difference - as Cancer Research says: 'Together we CAN fight cancer.'

Thank you so much for reading.

Heather's name has been changed in this story (although many of you know her and know who I am writing about.)

A film of my life story!! How did I get to this point?

I promised to answer any questions about the film in this blog and last week Manon Claus from the Netherlands asked how much involvement I would have in the making of the film and whether or not I would have any control over the finished product. I thought the answer would give me an opportunity to explain a bit about what happened in the run up to the present day. How did I actually get to the stage of having a Hollywood film company want to make a film of my life story?

Well, the story is based on a large body of writing I’ve done over the past ten years. My husband Paul, and Andro, a very dear friend of ours who is a writer, always loved the stories I would tell them of my students and bellydance friends. They found them inspiring, funny and uplifting. Sometimes they found them heartbreaking. They nagged me for years to write the stories down.

I had always believed that the tale of teaching the ladies in my tiny Kentish village to bellydance would make an amazing film, and I’ve worried away for years about how I might make it happen. Writing the stories down would at least give me something to work from in the future, so I followed their advice. I kept the stories private – only showing them to Paul and Andro, who were always supportive and encouraging.

Two years ago a local sculptor who had seen my first-ever show in our little local town, introduced me to an independent film producer, who agreed that the story would indeed make an amazing film. The sculptor put together a small production team (which included me and the producer) and we started to work together. 

In the first meeting the other members of the team were very excited and, in their enthusiasm, started to make up all sorts of fanciful stories about me and my students. I came home seriously concerned that the story would go off on a crazy tangent, so Paul suggested I take a few weeks off teaching and write down everything that had happened to me – from the first moment I saw a bellydancer in 1981, right up to the present day. It was long, hard work, but at the end of the process I had a 13,000 word document which told my story and that of my students in my own words. I copyrighted it, signed it, sealed it and posted it to myself by recorded delivery (to give me a confirmed, dated record of my story).

I then sent a copy off to the producer (alongside the essays I had written) who loved it and said there was enough material in there for more than one film and that it would also make an amazing West End show. Everyone was terribly excited and convinced they had a potential hit on their hands, but as the months went by I became increasingly unhappy. I found the other members of the team overbearing and often felt bullied (not an easy thing to do to me!) 

The original idea was that the producer would introduce us to a film company to make the film, but it soon became clear that the team members wanted to do everything themselves – casting, choosing the director, raising the finance, even undertaking the advertising and publicity. I felt that they were all playing at being film makers and I just couldn’t see the project ever actually seeing the light of day. I was increasingly convinced that, even if it did get made, it would disappear without trace. So, when the writer we hired to write the screenplay had to pull out at the last minute, I decided to take matters into my own hands. 

A film script has two stages. A story outline – called a treatment, and a working script. I took it upon myself to write the treatment and on holiday in Turkey last July I did just that. And that was when the magic started to happen (see blog post here)

I want to explain what happened next at a later date, when I can name the film company (it’s a beautiful, magical sequence of events) so I won’t go into any detail here. But just to say, I ended up with my story being taken on by one of Hollywood’s biggest and most famous film studios.

And here is where the answer to Manon’s question comes in. The first team was very collaborative and democratic (albeit overbearing at times). Everyone was going to have an equal stake in the production company, any profits would be shared between us and we would all have a say in the script, choice of director, casting, everything.  

Now that I’m signing with a big studio I have far less say in the process. I don’t mind that too much. My attitude is, these guys make hit movies for a living - they know what works and what audiences will pay to go and watch. However, what they don’t know is the bellydance world. They don’t know how to go about choosing music and they don’t know where to buy bellydance costumes. They don’t know sha’abi from saidi, Bella from Eman or a hipdrop from a camel! Which is where I will come in.

My initial role will be twofold. As the story is based on my life and that of my students the writer will need to spend a lot of time with me in person and by phone and email. She’ll be coming to my classes, spending time in my village and meeting the people who fill my life. Of course, she will need to fictionalise certain things (this is a feature film, not a documentary) so some characters will undoubtedly be composites and some stories will be wholly or partly made up. And I really don’t want to interfere in that process – as I said earlier, they are the professionals. Of course, if there is something that is just plain wrong then I’ll say so. But I won’t have final say on the storyline. And neither do I want it.

Likewise, the studio chose the writer and the producer. I wasn’t involved in that decision, although I am thrilled with the choices. Together with the producer, they will choose the director and the cast. I’m sure if I have a strong desire for a certain actress to play me or a central character, I can put that view forward and it will be considered, but I certainly won’t have the right to demand anything. Locations and so on will be chosen by the director.

If and when we get to the point of filming (and, with a lot of luck and a fair wind, it might be this time next year) I’ve been promised I’ll be retained to do the choreography, teach the actresses to bellydance and advise on music and costuming. Those are the elements where I believe I can really bring something to the table. But as for the rest of it, I have to be prepared to sit back and let the professionals take over. 

I don’t know how hard that will be until I’m going through the process. I’m sure there will be many private tears shed on Paul’s shoulder. But as long as the final result is a great success and gives me, my team and the world of bellydance an exciting time and a higher profile in the future then I’ll be very happy.

The film - what happens next?

Gosh it's been a whirlwind two weeks! Of course it's nothing to what real celebrities go through, but it's been exciting, exhausting and unbelievably good for my ego

Firstly, I was overwhelmed by the wonderful messages of support from people once I had announced the news of the film. I'd been pretty scared about doing it - I didn't really know what to expect - but I really hadn't imagined I'd be the recipient of such generosity of spirit. It was incredibly heartwarming. I had so many posts on my Facebook message board, private messages, emails and of course comments on this blog. All were supportive, congratulatory and very, very kind. Thank you everyone!

Then every day last week was spent in interviews with TV, radio and national press. And this was a week that should have been completely taken up with preparation for my big student show on Saturday! I'm good at juggling but I tell you, there were a lot of balls up there! Here's a link to a BBC TV news film about the story and here's a lovely piece in the Sunday Express. 

But now the student show is over (and was wonderful!) so I have time to get back to writing. And I thought you might like to know a bit more about where things are and what happens next as far as the film is concerned. Of course there are lots of things that have to be confidential, so I'm going to concentrate on stuff that is in the public domain or is standard industry practice.

How long will it take?

A film takes years to make - my brother, who works in the film industry told me to expect it to take up to ten years!! But because I'm working with a big studio it will hopefully be much quicker. This one has actually been in progress since November last year and if everything goes really quickly, it might be in cinemas two years from now. 

Two years may sound like a long time, but when you think of the amount of work that is involved: writing and agreeing a script, finding the right director, casting it, finding locations, putting together all the film crew, costuming, etc etc etc. And of course the studio has to work around the busy schedules of A-list actors and directors who are not all going to be available at the same time, and certainly not at the drop of a hat.

Filming itself typically takes around ten to twelve weeks. And even when that is done, there’s the long, gutty job of editing and post production - which takes about nine months.

Where are we now?

We now have a writer in place – a BAFTA nominated writer who is very much in demand right now. And, quite magically, it turns out she’s a bellydancer! Nobody had known this in advance,  but she’s been bellydancing for ten years and loves it. She regularly goes to festivals such as JoY and has taken workshops with several of my friends. She came down to our show on Saturday (and loved it) and will start work on the script in the next few weeks. One of my concerns was how well I would be able to communicate the way bellydancing can change women’s lives, but of course she totally understands – she’s experienced it herself. And she doesn’t come loaded down with pre-conceptions or misunderstandings about our dance.

We also have a famous award winning producer on board who, once again, is a woman. She will be responsible for putting the team together, for making sure the film is true to its conception, that it comes in within budget and generally keeping everything on track. She’s produced some of the biggest blockbusters of recent years so it’s incredibly exciting that she wants to do my story! 

A British production

The studio executive who ‘discovered’ me is deeply committed to this being a British film. British films are a distinct genre within the industry – wonderful films such as The Full Monty,  Calendar Girls, Bend It Like Beckham and The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. When the story went out to writers to pitch for it, the American studio executives put forward several Hollywood writers, but my guy resisted because they wanted to "Hollywood-ise" the story. We all want real women with real curves and a few years on the clock to be represented, as well as younger ones of course.

We're all aiming for this film to be heartwarming and inspirational with crackling dialogue. We want you to laugh and cry along with the real women depicted in the film – most of whom are still Hipsinc students and teachers. And of course there will be great music,  great dancing and fabulous costumes!  

What’s not to love?

If you have any questions you'd like me to answer in this blog, leave a comment and I'll try to answer (subject to commercial confidentiality of course!) 

Here it comes! The secret I've been dying to tell everyone!

So, last night I finally went public. I had an interview lined up with the local paper today and had been given permission to tell them what was happening. I really didn't want my friends and bellydance colleagues to find out from the press before I told them myself, so last night at London's Bellydance Trophies competition I said the words I've been dying to say for two years now...

"In the next few days I will be signing a contract with a major Hollywood film studio who will be making a film based on my life story!"

Yes. Really!

I can't quite believe it myself, although I've had a long time to get used to the idea. The plan is that it will be a classic British film, telling the story of me and my students, and the classes I used to run in my tiny village in Kent. They are billing it as the next Calendar Girls, but edgier. And of course with lots of bellydancing!

If the film is a success, then they will make a West End show of it. A West End bellydance show! How amazing is that??

We are hoping to have some of the great British actresses starring in the film, so hopefully I'll be teaching some of my favourite actresses to bellydance some day soon! And I really hope I get the chance to choreograph the dancing in the film too - they've certainly promised I will.

I hope I'll be able to tell the story of how it all happened in this blog sometime, but basically this is what my Project Lift Off is all about. When they started to talk about a West End show, I realised that bellydance isn't geared up for the West End stage - our dance was developed for small scale environments like restaurants and nightclubs. The big stage needs bigger movements because tiny vibration shimmies and lovely internalized mayas will be lost across a big auditorium. We need our work to be seen all the way back in the upper circle!

And if the stage show does indeed get commissioned, we need to be ready with lots of amazing bellydancers! Capable of doing anything that a choreographer wants to throw at them! And if we are to dance night after night on a big stage, we need tough dance training - to make sure we are strong, fit and flexible. We need to do the sort of dance conditioning that other dance forms do, but that has tended to get missed in bellydance.

I've got at least three years to get UK dancers prepared for what I hope will be an unbelievably exciting opportunity. Something that will put bellydance on the map. Something that will hopefully raise the profile of bellydance internationally. And something that could be a major milestone in the history of bellydance.

Whatever happens, it should be one amazingly exciting journey!!

If you want to find out more about Project Lift Off, I explain a bit about it on my website here. If you want to join in, the next two courses start on Sunday - details here. One is a four week choreography course, the other is based on combinations so you can just try a class out without committing to a full course.

I'll tell the story of how it all happened very soon. It has all been quite magical - for everyone involved.

I also want to say a massive 'thank you' to my students and a few very special friends, who have known about this story for a while, but didn't tell! Thank you for keeping my secret. It meant a lot to me to be able to confide in you when I was just bursting to tell the world but couldn't!

Today I'm starting to write a book.

I’ve been a closet writer for around two years now.  Typing away at secret projects that quite magically have resulted in a contract due from the States today for me to sign. And hopefully transform my life.

The contract isn’t for a book, but within the contract is provision for a book. A book of my life in bellydance. Of my lovely girls and of the adventures we’ve had along the way.

A writer friend told me that the best time to write is first thing in the morning, before the brain starts worrying away at the mundane tasks of the day. I’m not an early riser by nature, but I discovered he was right. As a result, for large chunks of the past two years I’ve woken and got straight out of bed and to the computer. Not stopping to shower, not stopping to dress. All I do is grab a coffee and power up the Mac.

I don’t understand why, but I love writing. I don’t know what it is about it, why it makes me so happy. After all, isn’t  it reminiscent of school? Isn’t it terribly solitary? Aren’t there an awful lot of grammatical rocks to stumble over? But for some reason writing gives me enormous pleasure and I’ve never faced the thing writers fear most of all – a blank mind when faced with a blank page. I just get stuck in. 

And what could possibly be more wonderful than what I’m doing right now? Sitting in my sun dress, at a shady table in my beautiful garden in Kent. The early morning sun is shining, a bumble bee is foraging in the flowers at my feet and the birds are singing their hearts out.

One of the best times I wrote was on holiday in Turkey last summer. I had taken it upon myself to write something that was really important to me and I decided I needed a clear head to do it. We had a holiday booked and it seemed the perfect opportunity – away from the demands of running a school and an annual festival. 

So, every morning I would leave Paul snoozing in bed and walk through the gardens of our tiny hotel and down to the beach. There I would settle into a large beachside lounger and, with a pot of Turkish coffee by my side and my computer on my lap, I would write the morning away. 

It was a protected beach - loggerhead turtles were laying their eggs there that very week. So it was quiet and peaceful. No music, no beach hawkers, no motorboats. Just the sound of the waves and the chirping of the newly hatched chicks that roamed the hotel grounds with their mothers.

Maybe it was all that new life – the baby turtles, the golden chicks – or maybe there was just an air of magic in the place.  But the piece I wrote there took on a life of its own and, within a month of that holiday, a handsome young man walked across a dance floor and spoke the words that were to change my life.

But that’s a story for another day…

Back to the blog!!

I've been away from blogging for eighteen months and I'm so pleased to be back!

I stopped because I was working on a very big writing project that took up an enormous amount of time. I was also organising the first Shimmy in the City international bellydance festival with Khaled Mahmoud, as well as running Hipsinc, my bellydance school.

I knew something had to give! And the blog drew the short straw.

But now the writing project is finished and delivered. Shimmy in the City was a great success and the second one is comfortably underway. And I have a brilliant team around me at Hipsinc, including the very best PA I have ever employed in thirty years - Louise Sullivan, Wonderwoman!

But most of all I'm involved in such wonderful, exciting, remarkable things at the moment that I knew I just had to start writing again.

Right now I don't want to go into details about the biggest thing I'm involved in, because I'm in the middle of contract negotiations. But you can be sure that as soon as everything is signed and sealed and I've been given the go ahead, you'll hear about it here first! And believe me, this particular project will be the biggest and most exciting thing the bellydance world has ever seen, with the potential to bring bellydance international worldwide fame!

But for today, I'm really excited to be launching my new, personal website at charlottedesorgher.com! I've been working on it for what seems like forever, but it's finally all up and tested and checked and I think it's looking good!

The original Hipsinc website is, of course, here to stay! But I've been feeling for a time that I needed a personal website to highlight the things I'm doing and to give me some space for a bit more self-promotion!! A lot of the information on my  new site is also on the Hipsinc website, but there are lots of extra areas, such as an online store, videos, photographs and yes, this blog!

So, please do check out my new site at www.charlottedesorgher.com  and tell me what you think!! Is there anything else you would like to see on there? Any links not working or (shock horror!) any spelling errors?!!!

And what about this blog. Is there anything you would like me to write about? I love writing and I'll gladly cover anything that you are particularly interested in. Do leave me some feedback or comments - I'd love to hear from you!

Recreating the harem. Without the Sultan!

Today I had an email from Chloe, one of our hipsinc teachers who teaches in Hastings and London. She was inviting me to her latest Grand Harem afternoon - an afternoon of dancing, shopping, cake and pampering!

It started me reminiscing about our first harem afternoon and the concept itself. My idea was this: in the days of the sultans the women of the harem had nothing to do all day except sit around on cushions, eat sweetmeats and gossip. Doesn't sound all bad, does it...?

Now I know that the harem wasn't exactly a trail-blazer for female emancipation, but I thought it was about time we reclaimed the harem for ourselves.

I advertised it to my students as an opportunity to get together, gossip, watch videos of great dancers and eat lots of sweet things. I also said I'd dance for them, because one of the features of the harem was visits and performances from a group of professional dancers called the awalim. The awalim were an educated, higher class of dancer who would perform only for women and were shielded from the sight of men.

In the middle east, where bellydance originates, men and women socialize apart. After all, this is a predominantly Muslim part of the world and men and women are not meant to mix too much. Dance is an important feature of middle-eastern life and all celebrations include dancing. But a good Muslim girl would never dance in public in mixed company, except in the context of a family occasion, such as a wedding. Instead, they dance for each other in the privacy of their own homes.

So I held the first one in my home. I prepared the room with candles, cushions, soft drinks and copious quantities of middle eastern sweets. I was surprisingly nervous about it and when only six people arrived at the start I was convinced I had a flop on my hands. But in the course of the next hour, the doorbell rang again and again until we had more than twenty women sitting around on cushions and chatting to each other about their belly dance classes.

I made mint tea, played videos of famous belly dancers through the ages and invited them to ask any questions they wanted. And at the end I danced for them.

The harem afternoon concept was repeated with various entertainments after that. One time I invited Gayle Buckley, a terrific makeup artist and a bellydancer herself, who taught the girls how to apply bellydancer-style makeup, I loved the sight of tables covered with glitter and makeup, populated by women peering deeply into mirrors as they tried to apply false eyelashes and flick an oriental-style line with black eyeliner.

More recently Chloe has taken the concept even further and created her wonderful Grand Harem afternoons, which comprise costume, makeup and jewellery stalls, beauty treatments, performances and of course lots of cake. Cake is the constant feature of any hipsinc Harem Afternoon!

But my memories of that first afternoon are of the rush to the sweet table whenever a video finished. Of standing in the kitchen listening to the sounds of noisy, happy chatter. Of them laughing and dancing around my coffee table. And finally, of my husband arriving home to find the house full of women, high on sugar and foreign culture, shimmying through the candlelit house.

Hold that pencil...

Well, it's been quite a while since I last posted here. The reason? I've been shooting my first-ever instructional DVDs. It's something I've wanted to do for years but I've always put it off for two reasons. Both entirely foolish.

Firstly I was worried about my weight, and blogged about it here. But the main reason had to do with my pencil technique...

All my students will know what I mean. When women first come to my beginners class, one of the first things I say to them is that I need them to imagine they have a pencil "where they don't think I could possibly mean I want them to have a pencil!" They have to grip that pencil and lift it. In other words, I want them to lift up in the pelvic floor. We then go on to draw circles and figure 8s with our imaginary pencil.

I don't do it to be smutty. There are solid reasons behind the concept. It helps them imagine the shapes that form some of bellydance's core moves and it keeps the pelvis level which makes those moves better. It also strengthens the all-important pelvic floor and helps keep the lower back safe.

I've probably said it to thousands of women over the years. And it's always been a great ice breaker in class and a really useful teaching tool. But oh how I stressed about saying it to camera!

Every time I thought about it I broke out in a cold sweat.

It wasn't so much the thought of all the people who don't know me watching me say those words in the comfort of their living rooms. After all, I say it every week of my working life. No, it was the fear of the disapproval of other bellydance teachers.

I sometimes think bellydance teachers form two distinct groups. Those who rejoice in the ability to use words like 'bum' in the course of earning their living and those who would never allow such a word to pass their lips. One group is surprisingly prim and proper, the other... not!

I remember a row breaking out on a bellydance forum over whether students should allow the breasts to move at all in the execution of a shoulder shimmy. Many insisted they should stay absolutely still. Excuse me people, try shaking your shoulders without the 'girls' moving! What are you going to do, tie them down?

On that same forum many years ago, when I was very new to the business, some teachers were talking about how difficult it was to teach the figure eight - a foundation move in bellydance. I piped up about the pencil technique, assuming that people would either use it themselves or be interested in how well it worked.

Oh the shock and horror that was expressed by everyone on the forum. From California to Australia and back again people protested that what I was suggesting was disgusting. It was like listening to a group of blue-rinsed matrons from the 1970s! I fought my corner for a while and was really grateful for a lone voice from the north of England who confessed that she used the image, although she never let on to other teachers for fear of ridicule. But I finally slunk off with my tail between my legs and resolved never to talk about it in bellydance circles again.

Even worse, someone on the forum came up with the concept of the 'excremental video party' where dancers would bring their worst bellydance videos to laugh over together. Suggestions were made for videos to bring and yes, the top vote was for an instructional video by a teacher who taught the pencil technique.

So, dear reader, that's why I've put off filming my instructional DVD for the last five years. Fear and shame. Remember I'm English and public embarrassment is one of our very worst fears. Shame is what keeps us awake at night, bathed in a cold sweat.

Of course I could have found some other way of teaching those moves on the DVD, but I know it works. I've taught it for years. And I'm nothing if not brave. So, dear reader, I looked straight into that camera and I said those words. I didn't blush, I didn't stammer. I said them out, I said them proud.

A week later, the video cameraman contacted me to say the film had inexplicably juddered over that section and my words had been lost. I'd have to do it all over again.

It must have been the revenge of the bellydance matrons!

To diet or not to diet?

I’m currently on a diet. Like a quarter of the population, I’m trying to lose weight. But, unlike most of my fellow dieters, I’m finding it a bit of an ethical dilemma.

Oh, give over Charlotte! Spare us the existential angst! I hear you say.

I know, I know. It doesn’t really sit comfortably with the big ethical questions of our age: should we buy clothes made by workers on poverty wages? Is animal testing justified? Should we have gone to war with Iraq?

Should Charlotte be on a diet?

But there is a fundamental mismatch between what I tell my students and how I treat myself. It’s not that I tell my students not to diet. But I do tell them that they are beautiful just as they are. And they truly are.

One of the most moving things about being a bellydance teacher is hearing so many women say that bellydance has enabled them to feel good about themselves for the first time in their lives.

We are bombarded every day with images in the media of beautiful, slender women. Photographs of even the most beautiful and seemingly perfect are airbrushed to remove ‘imperfections’. And I know, because I hear it time and time again, that many women feel truly awful about themselves as a result of judging themselves against these images.

Only a couple of days ago, two women of very different shapes (one slim, one voluptuous) confided to me that they stand at the back of class because they cannot bear to see themselves in a mirror. As I say in the sidebar on this blog, I know without any shadow of a doubt that a very large proportion of women look in the mirror and they judge themselves. They see themselves as unattractive, or fat, or just not good enough. And they live with that every day of their lives.

Yet men look at us and love us. Painters have painted voluptuous women for centuries. Ordinary men, normal men, think we are beautiful. They think we are lovely just as we are.

I’ll never forget my first student show, held in the Women’s Institute Hall in the little town near where I live. The students had only been dancing a year and were a fabulously mixed bunch of ages, shapes and sizes.  None of us could possibly have withstood the scrutiny of TV, but we went out there and danced our socks off, tummies proudly displayed, in front of 100 people.

Afterwards I was truly astounded by the responses of the men in the audience. Every single one I spoke to commented on how beautiful the women were. Several men made a point of coming over to tell me just that. We were all very ordinary women. Aged between 20 and 60 and a wide range of body types. But to the men we were really beautiful.

Even more interestingly, each woman seemed to have one person unrelated to her, who singled her out as being particularly lovely. In other words, each of us had people in that audience who thought we were really special.

A year later I took some non-dancer friends to see the Bellydance Superstars, a bellydance troupe from the US managed by music promoter, Miles Copeland. The Superstars are a well-rehearsed, highly professional troupe of slim, beautiful girls. They left my friends cold.

They said they were put off by the cookie-cutter nature of the dancers. That the array of slender bodies and perfect smiles made them feel they were watching Californian cheerleaders. And every single one said they had preferred our student show in that little WI hall. The reason? Because there, they were seeing ‘real’ women. In all their imperfect beauty.

So what’s with the diet then?

Well, I’m shooting an instructional DVD in a couple of months and the truth is that I am just as affected by media images as every woman out there. And just as self-conscious about my wobbly belly.

I fear that when I look at the DVD in the future, all I will notice is the roll of fat that always shows when I do a hip drop. And the extra belly fat that hangs over my hip belt no matter how good my posture is.

I don’t want to lose too much though. I think it’s important that people see real women on this DVD. I want them to realise that a woman in her 50s and with curves can still be a good dancer. And I hope they can identify with me as being like them: a real woman, not an unobtainable image of perfection and beauty.

But as a real woman, I also have to hold my hand up and say; I wish I were thinner! More beautiful. Just a bit more like Cheryl Cole.

Thank goodness for my husband, who never fails to tell me he loves me exactly as I am!

Hipsinc's Got Talent!

Two very excited texts appeared on my mobile within seconds of each other. OMG they've shown us on Britain's Got Talent!!

Chantel and Cheryl are two of my very best dancers. Absolute naturals both of them, Chantel was the first of my students to turn professional and now teaches seven classes a week for hipsinc. Cheryl arrived later and now teaches private lessons for us.

I clearly remember the very first time I saw each of them in class.

Chantel is frankly stunning. No-one could ever miss her. Tall, leggy, with the look of a glamour model, she has a face you can't take your eyes off. The day she arrived in class she had just recently fixed the one part of her anatomy that didn't conform to glamour model ideal. Barely covered by a tiny tie-front top, the first sight of Chantel's cleavage as she leaned forwards in a deep hip circle will be forever seared into my memory banks!

As I got to know her I also discovered she has the personality of an angel and the work ethic of a captain of industry.

Cheryl is beautiful too, but in a quieter way. She seemed to arrive in the beginners class fully formed as a dancer. She executed every move perfectly and I was astounded when she insisted that not only had she never done a bellydance class in her life, she had never done ballet or any other form of dance, even as a child.

Almost nothing dance-wise is beyond her. New moves never faze her and complex combinations and choreographies are approached with focus and almost immediate proficiency.

The two of them met when Cheryl completed her fast track through to the advanced class. But their dance partnership was sealed when Cheryl started to attend Chantel's weekly street-bellydance class. Street-bellydance is a mixture of hip hop and bellydance and is typified by stars such as Shakira, Christina Aguilera and Beyoncé. Chantel's remarkable energy and glamour girl looks are perfectly suited to this youthful style of bellydance and she loves teaching it.

The two of them started to perform together and soon created a duo, calling themselves Mystika.

Last autumn they decided to enter Britain's Got Talent and were thrilled to go through into the main heats. With tens of thousands of entrants and only a few hundred getting to that stage, that was a major achievement. Now they were going to be performing on the enormous stage at the Hammersmith Apollo, in front of Simon Cowell, Piers Morgan and Amanda Holden. And filmed for a TV audience of millions!

I went along to support them on what turned out to be a very long and decidedly odd day. The 'holding area' - a large function room nearby, was full of every kind of eccentric and forever-hopeful entertainer it was possible to imagine. Fully painted clowns jostled with Madonna impersonators. Sixteen stone pearly kings chatted to tiny circus performers with hoops hanging off every limb. And a group of men dressed only in dressing gowns and socks solemnly informed me they were balloon dancers.

It was a long day of interviews, waiting around, more interviews and much more waiting around. We arrived at 10am. Just before midnight the girls finally made it onstage.

They went down well with Simon Cowell and Piers Morgan. Simon said he really liked them and Piers said it was a treat to see bellydancers who were so “easy on the eye!” But Amanda Holden wasn’t happy. In a sequence not shown on TV, Amanda buzzed the girls almost immediately she saw them. Simon turned to Amanda and asked what her problem was, at which point a member of the audience shouted out: “She’s jealous!”

Amanda hotly denied it, but all the talk backstage that day was about Amanda’s attitude to attractive contestants. All the girls were saying, 'Amanda will buzz you off. She’s buzzing all the pretty girls as soon as she sees them!' Every young female contestant we met had the same story to tell: the moment they went out on stage, Amanda had buzzed them. As she did with Chantel and Cheryl.

But Mystika got the support of Simon and Piers who voted them through to the next round. We didn't know whether they would actually be shown on TV (not everyone who is filmed and voted through is broadcast) so we were all thrilled and relieved that they they were part of Saturday night's broadcast.

Even better, there is a lively interview with them on the main Britain's Got Talent website.

I love these girls so much. And I am unspeakably proud of them. I can't wait to see what they do next.

Watch Chantel and Cheryl's interview here

I never thought I'd be teaching cubs to bellydance!

Fifteen Cub Scouts, half of them autistic, all of them highly excited. And all swinging sticks around like mad helicopters. Not for the first time in my career as a bellydance teacher, I seriously questioned my own judgment.

My sister is Akela of her local Cub Scout pack and had asked me if I'd teach the Cubs some Egyptian-style dancing as part of their Faith badge. Bellydancing may be primarily a female dance form, but men are also keen dancers in Egypt. And in Luxor, near the Valley of the Kings, they are famous for dancing with big sticks in a stylised martial arts dance called Raqs Tahtib.

Teaching the Cubs how to do stick dancing had seemed like a good idea when she had first asked me - I thought the boys would appreciate a more masculine style of dance. So my husband visited the local wood merchants to buy lengths of wooden dowelling to cut to size and I choreographed a simple routine involving lots of mock fighting.

Ten minutes before I left on the day itself, my sister rang: "Just to confirm, we'll have around fifteen boys. Oh and by the way, seven of them are autistic or somewhere along the autistic spectrum."

Huh? Boys. Sticks. Fighting. Autistic spectrum. Help!

I'd better give you some context here. I'm childless. By choice. I trained to be a primary school teacher but gave up half way through because I realised I was useless with children. I've got a bit better since becoming an aunt but really, I don't do children.

And here I was, going off with armfuls of dowelling to teach 15 lively boys, half of whom had communication or behavioural problems, how to fight-dance with sticks.

My first contact with the Cubs was a little unnerving. A solemn boy marched up to me and demanded to know why I was wearing makeup. But my response that "I always do", seemed to be acceptable. And when they were all gathered together it was clear that for many of them, keeping their attention and channelling their energy was going to be quite a challenge.

My sister was brilliant with them though. She told them stupid jokes, bossed them about and managed to keep their focus on all things Egyptian rather than on beating each other up or racing around the room. And there was always the bellydancers time-honoured way of gaining attention - a zhagareet (high-pitched ululation) stopped them in their tracks most effectively!

It turned out to be a great day. The boys were certainly challenging, but they really did learn how to stick dance. Not brilliantly, but with bucketloads of enthusiasm.

There were particular areas of appeal: I had choreographed some sections of partner dancing where they would do some very stylized mock fighting. That went down particularly well, although as you can imagine, we had to calm them down a couple of times during practice sessions.

Then there was the salute. One of the characteristic things in this style of Egyptian dancing is to touch the hand to the forehead in a sort of salute. Of course this appealed enormously to the Cubs and one boy insisted on saluting through the whole dance - even when he had the stick in that hand!

And the autistic boys particularly enjoyed counting the beats in the music. As my sister pointed out - counting is a big thing with many autistic people and they loved the regularity and repetition of the beat threading through the music.

At the end of the afternoon the Cubs performed their stick dance to an audience of parents and siblings. As I stood at the back of the audience, discretely directing, I was overcome by the look of utter pride on the parents' faces.

I had thought I would be pleased just to get through the day without someone losing an eye. I didn't expect to be quite so moved by this funny little bunch of boys.

Unforseen circumstances

"Hello, my name's Amir Thaleb and I'm here to teach you how to dance Thaleb-style."

These were the words I was looking forward to hearing last weekend. But I hadn't expected them to be coming from my own mouth!

For years I have wanted to take a class with Argentinian-based dancer Amir Thaleb. With a strong ballet-influenced style and a classically-trained dancer's emphasis on strong technique, he has been a major influence on my own mentor, Aziza.

To my knowledge Amir Thaleb has never taught in the UK, so when bellydance festival, Jewel of Yorkshire (JoY) booked him to teach, I signed up immediately.

I was very excited at the prospect of learning from someone who not only dances in a style I am increasingly developing for myself, but who has an amazing dance school in Buenos Aires. Aziza teaches at his festival every year and tells incredible stories of the exacting standards expected of the students, and of massive workshops of 1,500 attendees!

I told my Thursday students I was travelling the following morning to Yorkshire to take workshops with this great teacher flying in from Argentina. To which they replied: 'Oh no he isn't!'

A volcano had just erupted in Iceland, sending a gigantic ash cloud over the UK and northern Europe. And all flights into and out of the UK had been cancelled!

The next morning I rang Mandy, the JoY festival organiser, to find out whether Amir Thaleb had arrived before the volcano had done its deed. She told me that he had left Argentina and was actually in the air as we spoke, but there was no knowing whether or where he would be able to land. She had two other international teachers booked. Both were currently stuck in Cairo, with no knowledge of whether they would be able to fly in at any time over the weekend.

For a festival organiser it was the stuff of nightmares. The workshops couldn't be cancelled, because the international teachers might manage to get there, at least on one of the days. And since they had contracts, they would expect to teach, and to be paid. So Mandy and her colleague, Chris, had to continue with the festival, asking local teachers to be prepared to cover if necessary, knowing that many people, like me, were coming specifically to take classes with international teachers and would be unhappy with local substitutes.

I offered to help in whatever way I could. And Mandy asked if I would perform in the show and be ready to teach if the international teachers were unable to get there.

For me it was a great opportunity to showcase myself in the north of England where I'm not well known. And to help out a fellow event organiser. On the downside, I was truly knackered after a hard few weeks and was worried about how well I would perform, both in the show and teaching - especially since I was unprepared for both!

It was a long, five and a half hours drive to Yorkshire and I arrived late in the evening, tired and worried I had done the wrong thing. But soon the bar filled up with bellydance friends from around the UK and I felt my energy lift.

One of the great things about working in a niche industry is that you make friends from far away, often online. Festivals and weekend workshops bring us all together and when we meet, we have our love of bellydance and many friends in common. So conversation flows easily and we are all relieved to be able to talk about our passion with people who share it.

And the festival itself was a delight. JoY is certainly well named! Set in a fabulously decorative  concert hall within a charming Victorian village on the Yorkshire moors, the central theatre was bright with sparkling bellydance bazaars and full of the warmth of women chatting with friends and revelling in a weekend dedicated to dance.

There was a certain amount of tension at first amongst people who clearly hadn't put two and two together - that closed airports mean international visitors can't arrive, even to teach bellydance workshops! But as the weekend went on, everyone relaxed, and the atmosphere that JoY is renowned for started to manifest itself.

That atmosphere was really lovely. I performed in the show to a fantastic reception - the warmth from the audience was palpable and extremely welcome, given that I had had so little time to prepare. And on the Sunday I was very amused to be teaching the very same workshop I had hoped to take!

I was so grateful to the workshop students. They were very accepting of me, gave me back so many smiles and worked really hard. Even though it was the last workshop of the weekend and they were probably exhausted.

I drove the five and a half hours back to Kent feeling relieved that I had been accepted by the delegates, and very pleased that I had decided to go to JoY despite the lack of international teachers. I really hope others felt the same. It's a truly lovely festival and the organisers are warm and generous people.

I'll certainly be going again.

But is it authentic...?

Since I returned to bellydancing eight years ago, I've often been troubled by the question of authenticity. As an English woman from Cheltenham Spa, living near, of all places, Tunbridge Wells, what exactly am I doing bellydancing?

And when I dance, who do I dance as? Do I imagine myself as Egyptian? Do I try, as many do, to recreate the gestures used by Egyptian dancers? Or attempt to feel music the way the Egyptians do?

I remember being in a workshop with Aida Nour, an Egyptian bellydance star of the 1980s, now a popular international teacher. It was an advanced workshop with many experienced dancers. Aida became increasingly irritated because she said we weren't dancing on the beat. And the more we concentrated on just that, the more irritated she became. Finally, exasperated, she asked me to video everyone dancing the routine, herself included. She then left the room (in pretty high dudgeon) and told us to review what we were doing wrong.

Well, I'm a trained classical singer with a strong sense of rhythm and I was flummoxed. I knew I had been dancing on the beat. And the video confirmed it. But oddest of all, the only person who wasn't dancing on the beat was Aida Nour herself! She was behind throughout.

And there, of course, was our answer. We were hearing the beat as punctual Brits. She heard it as a woman from a hot country with little sense of urgency. Arabs use the term 'English Time' to mean punctuality. In practice it means being only half an hour late.

Aida Nour confirmed our suspicions. We were dancing 'early'. And of course the more she had complained, the earlier we had become. No wonder she found us infuriating!

Later she thoughtfully explained that no-one outside Egypt hears the music correctly. It wasn't just the Brits, it was everyone - from the US to Japan, Norway to South Africa. And I've heard that said by Egyptians time and again - dancers and ordinary people alike. No-one dances bellydance like the Egyptians. No-one feels the dance or hears the music like them. Good try but no cigar.

So where does that leave me? Cheltenham born, English speaking, a ballet girl from the age of five. Faced with the realisation that I'm never going to get it right, you can see why I sometimes ask myself the question in that first paragraph.

For a long time I tried hard to recreate 'authentic' Egyptian styling and gestures. To denote heartache or love I would dutifully hold my hand under my ribcage as the Egyptians do. I would take little trouble with my arm technique and try to look 'lazy' in my arabesques.

But the more I tried to be authentic, the more hidebound I felt in my dancing. And the more I felt like a fraud. Because you see, I'm not Egyptian. I'm English. Always have been, always will be. I love the Arab world, but I'm not from it.

The breakthrough for me came, surprisingly, in a workshop by an Egyptian teacher. Professor Hassan Khalil came to teach at Fantasia and brought with him a technique chock-full of ballet moves and ballet terminology. Suddenly I realised I didn't have to deny my years of ballet training; I could draw upon it; I could revel in my ability to dance graceful arabesques, to spin and to posé.

The next revelation was meeting Aziza from the US. Quite simply, her first trip to the UK, which I organised, and now organise every year, changed my personal dance world. Interestingly, Aziza, who styles herself an American Cabaret-style bellydancer was a little intimidated by the fact that the UK has a reputation for being very Egyptian focussed. She feared we may look down on her as not being properly authentic (yes that word again!)

But seeing Aziza dance was an inspiration. I've never seen anything quite as wonderful. Like me, her early training was in ballet, jazz and contemporary dance. But unlike me, she wasn't trying to deny it. Typically American, she had simply grafted her western dance forms onto the middle eastern one. And in the process created something uniquely hers. And uniquely beautiful.

The time since has been a fascinating journey for me. It's a journey I'm still on. I always have to ask myself at what point does something stop being bellydance and become something else. There is a lot of fusion dance around at the moment and, although I respect and enjoy it, I believe one needs to be very sure of what one is fusing and why.

When I started to break free of what I increasingly saw as an Egyptian strait jacket, I knew I needed a lodestar to guide me. A fixed point I could weave around and still know where I was going. I had been lucky enough to have as my first teachers, Hossam and Serena Ramzy - true giants of Egyptian bellydance. Hossam is one of the greatest musicians and composers of Egyptian music alive today. His wife is a superbly musical and beautiful bellydancer.

Hossam and Serena taught me how to interpret the instruments and rhythms of the Egyptian orchestra. They taught me one of the greatest truths about bellydance: that 'the art of oriental dancing is to visually hear the music'. And this has become my guiding principle.

So here, for what they are worth, are my own dance rules. Firstly I dance to Arabic music, secondly I expect to use a significant number of 'core' bellydance moves. And finally I try to show the music through my body.

This is what I personally call bellydance. They are only my rules - and I certainly don't demand others follow them. But they are rules that have perversely given me freedom.

Like a child I need boundaries, but they are boundaries I embrace. Boundaries I hope others understand and appreciate. And which represent my own personal authenticity.

Memories of Lilian

Lilian was supermodel thin, with porcelain skin, stunning clothes sense and a filthy mind. Lilian never missed a class. Or a party. Lilian was 87.

A former competition ballroom dancer, whose dancing partner died in her arms of a heart attack, she's had her fair share of troubles. But she always arrived at her weekly bellydance class looking like a Vogue fashion spread circa 1952. Sparkling white coiffed hair, white swing coat, pillar box red hat, gloves and shoes. And her make up perfect. The lips just the right shade of matching red and not a smudge or cracked line anywhere.

The lift of Lilian's head when she danced was a lesson to us all. She danced with drama and elan, ready to fly off in the arms of some latin lover, or perform a tango in front of an adoring crowd. She was in her element with a veil; one minute swirling it as if in a paso doble, the next posing, draped like a Greek statue.

She was also deaf as a post and unable to remember a step of choreography.

We girls used to worry about Lilian. We didn't let her know - she wouldn't allow any of that sort of rubbish. But one evening a couple of years ago, I was momentarily terrified I'd killed her.

In bellydance we have a move called an arabesque. Evolved from classical ballet, it consists of two or three steps followed by a rise onto one leg as the other lifts in the air. The Egyptians, being a relaxed people with a dislike of too much energy usage, keep it pretty grounded, even desultory. But not our Lilian. This was a chance to fly!

And fly she did. She launched herself off from the side of the room in her pink chiffon skirt and pink satin ballet shoes. And as she rose onto one leg those shiny pink satin slippers betrayed her, and off she went, like a skater on an icy lake. Accelerating across the room, one leg in the air.

And then down she went, skirts, knickers and teeth everywhere.

I saw the look of horror frozen onto every face and knew they were reflections of mine. This was an 87 year-old woman. Eighty-seven year-old women die from falls. And not many of them fall from the top of their toes. On one leg. Whilst traveling at speed.

That terrible, still moment, when I asked myself what on earth I thought I was playing at, allowing an elderly lady to do something so dangerous, was followed by an almighty 'whoosh' as everyone ran to her.

As we gathered around her, she sat absolutely still. Totally silent. Head down. And then she looked up and shrieked: "Ooo, did you all see my knickers?"

Many arms reached out to lift her up. Many relieved sighs were breathed. Lilian was dusted off and hugged and fussed over. But she brushed away our concerns as if we were over-indulgent mothers who hadn't realized she'd grown up.

And at the end of the evening, as always, she walked me to my car "to make sure I was safe" and then disappeared off to catch the bus back home. Refusing, as ever, all offers of lifts, in her pride and her refusal to give in to her age.

Yesterday I received a letter from Lilian. She had finally accepted she was never going to dance again. She'd parceled up all her bellydance clothes and wanted to know if anyone might like them. I'll go and see her at her home - I feel guilty I haven't visited for over a year. She gave me so much and I miss her terribly.

It was one of those strange co-incidences life throws up, that her letter arrived the day one of our newest students celebrated her 90th birthday. Jo Holden reminds me uncannily of Lilian. Hollywood beautiful, the TV crew that came to film her for the evening news called her 'One Take Jo.' My husband, taking photographs for the local paper, noted how as soon as he pointed a camera at her, she lifted her head and tilted it slightly, knowing just how to make the very best of herself.

My mother-in-law died recently, aged 93 and, seeing her unhappy decline, I told myself I didn't want to live to be 90. Now I'm really not so sure...