Today was meant to be a red letter day in my dance career. Two workshops and an evening out with Lorna of Cairo.
I've been an avid follower of Lorna's blog, and was really looking forward to actually learning from her. It's always exciting to meet a new dancer in the flesh rather than just on Youtube, and I'd heard nothing but good things about her workshops - I was expecting big things!
And what I saw of her was amazing. She's a charismatic, intuitive teacher, with a way of teaching that encourages learners to experiment with technique and ideas. She corrects gently, with humour, and brings out the best in every person in her class.
I know this, because I got to sit at the back for half an hour and take notes, rather than spend four hours dancing, then go out for dinner and more dancing.
Why? because the afore-mentioned son of a shoe was not content with tailgating my little yellow car for two miles, and decided to round off his display of incompetent driving by ramming me up the arse and shunting me right across a roundabout. The ibn el sharmoota hit me so fucking hard that my seat was ripped off its runners, the spare wheel was shoved through the numberplate, and the radio was fired out of the dashboard, over the gear stick and ended up on the back seat!
I limped my poor little yellow peril as far as the venue, but it was clearly terminally unwell, and by then various aches and pains were making themselves known over the adrenaline, so I just sat at the back until the recovery truck made an appearance and then shuffled off again, no doubt to the utter confusion of the other dancers.
To say I'm gutted is an understatement. I have been looking forward to today for months, and to have missed out on it all just sucks so hard. I mean, I got four pages of notes just from what I did see. Imagine how much I would have learnt if I'd been there for the whole thing?
On the plus side. I'm all right, although I expect I am in for a bit of whiplash and bruising. The car did what it was meant to and took most of the impact. My insurers have all the details of the other guy, who was also unhurt, if apoplectic with rage (why yes, ibn kelb, it's totally my fault because I didn't pull out into the path of another car so your stuck up arse could catch the ferry to your holiday home in France five minutes quicker than planned. Elif air ab tizak), so I intend to nail his balls to the wall. And as you can tell, I used my time on hold to my insurers well, and learnt a whole host of new Arabic phrases that seemed apposite to the situation!
