I am happy. I just came back from my first ‘GD’ or General Dancing, which is the Friday night social run by the Cambridge Dancers’ Club. I danced most songs (avoided tangoes, foxtrots or Viennese Waltzes, though).

I think… I am starting to get over my dance shyness. I have been out of practice for perhaps two years and my confidence has been quite low. At the Winchester Ball, I huddled in the corner, paralysed unless someone asked me to dance. I felt guilty for not being brave enough to ask, and scared that I would impose a horrible dance experience on someone else.

I remember my first swing social. I hadn’t even had one dance lesson but still asked people to dance. ‘Hi. I don’t really know how to do this. Do you mind dancing with me?’

Somehow, being able to lower expectations made it easier. I guess I’m now in a situation where I am aware of my deficiencies as a dancer and not able to make up for them. Ignorance can be bliss.

Tonight, I danced with a man wearing a shirt, tie and waistcoat. I asked him to dance a quickstep, warning him that I was quite ‘rubbish’ at it. He replied that he was as well, and proceeded to lead me through a lovely quickstep. He was clearly not rubbish and had thoughtfully matched my level of dancing.

When the song finished, he gently hooked his arm through mine and walked me off the floor. It was very gentlemanly. I was surprised and really quite charmed.

On Sunday morning from 9:30 AM, the hopefuls began filtering into the dance studio. For some people, years of training had led to this day — the hip hop troupe auditions.

The existing ‘A’ troupe members (including me) had re-auditioned earlier in the morning and all had been invited back. Now we were here to help run the show.

About thirty students registered. Most were new auditionees who had spent the year watching the competition troupes train and compete. Something they saw made them want to put themselves through the tests this year. Other auditionees were current members of the ‘B’ troupe, who felt they were ready to move into ‘A’, and ‘Junior’ troupe members who wanted to move up to the adult troupes.

The morning started with lectures. What does it mean to be a troupe member? What level of commitment is required? What competitions, what opportunities, are open to competitive dancers? There is no point trying out for the team you aren’t willing to meet these expectations.

Diego, the Japanese South-American dancer who taught all the troupes, began the lesson. Everyone learned the same 4 counts of 8 in less than half an hour. The 32 beats weren’t difficult for the more advanced dancers. Some of the beginners and intermediate dancers were clearly struggling. And everyone was losing balance after the high jump over counts 3 and 4 in the third set of 8.

During the lesson, Suzy watched the individuals and made a list of two groups. During a break, she called out the names. Everyone was doing the same audition routine but half them would dance it to a much faster piece of music. I shook my head as I heard the piece. Wow. It was fast.

It was a 30°C day. People who asked for the air-conditioning to be turned on were told that it was already on. The room became stifling, yet the auditionees kept pushing themselves, and pushing and pushing.

“If only they worked this hard during class!” Suzy exclaimed.

When Diego was satisfied that people had learned the routine, he announced an extra test. Before the main part of the music track began, students would be required to freestyle dance — show us what you’ve got! The slow group had one count of eight, and the faster group had two counts of eight.

Finally, the learning was over and in pairs or groups of three, students were called into the audition room. The others waited nervously outside, every now and then, bursting into a flurry of practice.

After all the preparation, the actual auditions ran for only forty minutes. People came out grinning and relieved or mortified at their mistakes after having practiced it perfectly ten times before.

By 1 PM, everyone was turned out of the studio and the ‘A’ troupe and Diego remained to make the decisions.

On Sunday, I got to live out all my dictatorship fantasies. I was the Chief Marshal (ie. Head Mother Hen) at our dance school concerts. This was not a trivial exercise. For ten hours, my job was to manage backstage, make sure each act was ready to be onstage as soon as the previous act had finished. There were about 120 acts all together. I coordinated costume changes, kept the hallways clear and quiet, dealt with a battle of the sexes in the change rooms and catfighting between students from rival campuses.

I marshalled teenagers, pensioners, teachers and kids. The most difficult group to organise, by far, were the pre-schoolers. Such tiny cute little girls in pink tutus, so chubby and wide-eyed but GRRRR drove me up the wall. They kept talking and crying and moving around.

“Sssh… Stay still, I have to tuck in your shoelaces,” I’d say. “Ssssshhh, please be quiet!” I would come down to their level and look them in the eye (hey, I’ve seen Super Nanny, I know the score). The little pre-schooler would bite her little lip and nod and I’d think, “Thank God, she’s being quiet!” and ten seconds later, they’d all start crawling around and crying for mummy.

On Sunday, for the first time in my life, I wanted to be violent. I was furious at a certain teacher, younger than myself.

“Please keep behind this line,” I told her, while she was waiting in the wings. “The audience can see you there.” She stepped back a little then a minute later, she’s past the line again. At first, I thought it was an accident. “Step back please!” I reminded her. And it happened again. This went on about three times before I finally twigged. She was doing it deliberately. She looked at me, seeing if I was going to say anything. The next group of students waiting to go onstage watched the challenge. ARGH. I couldn’t believe it. What could I do? She was undermining my authority. I couldn’t tell her off in front of the students without undermining her authority.

I clenched my fist. I imagined punching her in the face and pushing her down the stairs. It would feel so good. I’ve never had violent thoughts about anyone before. It felt weird. I can feel the anger now, actually.

So I did nothing. I looked past her and said nothing. I couldn’t tell the other students to step back or be quiet while she was there, blatantly flouting the rules. I wanted her to go away. Eventually she did and I was able to get back to my job.