I wish, I wish, I wish.....

Now you know, if you read much of me, that these are not my feet. My feet are not slender and pink and beautifully pointy. But there is something about this photo that I love and I think, maybe, its because it brings back memories of my childhood dreams. When I was little, a long time ago, I dreamed of being a ballerina. I love the feline precision of their movement, the line of their arms, the lithe definition of their muscles. I love the way they lose themselves in music to express joy or sorrow. And I always wished that I could do that.

Sadly it was not to be. I could tell you how I grew too tall, or broke my leg in a freak parachuting accident, but the reality is far more mundane. My mum used to drop me off for ballet lessons and then shoot off to do her shopping. She promised every week that she would stay, but every week I would look for her after 10 minutes and she would have gone. To buy buns usually. So I gave up ballet and ate buns. I was 5 and I cannot tell you if I would have had a successful career. Probably not. Still, I blame my mum for the end of my dream. Still, after 38 years. Sometimes I wonder if I am being a little cruel? Would I have met my Man if I had been dancing for the Royal Ballet? Would I have had my lovely boys? But when I look in the mirror and see myself ( short and quite cuddly ) I muse over the possibilities of long ago. For some reason my family and those around me find it hard to imagine me as a Prima Ballerina.

They don't realise that inside I am tall and elegant - a swan in a duck's body.In my head I dance Pas de deux with Nureyev and take curtain calls that go on and on. In my head........