Strictly Come Belly Dancing
The other day I was in Holborn, it was lunchtime and I had come to meet my business adviser for a fast Japanese lunch. We perched on high stools at a bar near the entrance and were bustled about by wet umbrellas, portly business men and sharp cornered handbags. The music was fast turnover jazz.
I craned my neck sideways to converse with him. I've had this idea I said, what about TV? something like Strictly Come Belly Dancing (but steering away from the amateurism of the Generation Game). "You know what they're looking for in those programmes" he said "they want arguments, tears, drama.." "I know" I replied, confident in my own integrity, "but it's the other people that do that".
Cue a bus journey, eerily also through Holborn, just a week later. I was calling back a researcher from the BBC. Strictly Come Dancing Two had psychically picked up my message and they were looking for belly dancers. Or maybe they had picked up my email. Yes I said, before the lady on the phone had even begun to speak. That's great. "So you will just be chatting, watching the show and then making comments." In costume. "Yes." I said. barely hearing.
I rallied the troupes, puffed up my Moroccan style cushions, locked away the cat and painted on my make up and my blue lycra Egyptian costume. The other two girls were excited too. "It's weird we're not dancing though" they said as we pinned each other into our costumes. Yeah well never mind.
We sat together in a row in front of the camera and watched the programme (bearing in mind I'm a one hour a month TV viewer) trying to gather who was who. "Feel free to say if you think he's fit" the researcher cued "do you like her costume?" Of course on the day we'll supply you with wine so you feel more relaxed. I didn't mention the fact that I don't drink and this was about as relaxed as I was going to get without an hour's meditation.
In the space of five minutes I had accused a women I didn't know of looking like a bird and showing too much cleavage and a man of looking like a cross between Elvis Presley and an ice skater. This one was too stiff, that one had a smile glued to her face and so it went on. The three of us gossiping together on the cushions, egged on subtlely by the woman behind the camera. She played us back a clip and I saw myself in full costume complete with furrowed brow as the Dot Cotton of belly dancers.
"You were great. We'll let you know" she told us. We were excited, the adrenaline was pumping, the challenge was over but we wanted more, to keep watching and commenting. To make funnier and more outlandish comments. I wondered to myself why i hadn't been more extravert, I should have jumped up and shown them how it was done with a shimmy for the camera. Reluctantly I handed her back her DVD and offered her a sweet baklava (Middle Eastern pastry). She liked them. We put them all in a plastic bag for her to take home.
Later on our smiles faded a little as we wiped off our make up. One girl was worried what people she knew might think if they saw her and her belly dancer's cleavage on TV slating people. "Its just not the normal thing I would say; he's fit or she's a tart". I went to bed. I stared at the wall, chased the cat, and read a chapter from Robert Fisk's history of the Middle East. Some people have died for the principals they have laid down.
We were called back. Two of us had been selected. They wanted to match us up with the two bolder girls from another group, including a former student I had trianed of lesser experience who was trying to emulate and outshine me. Another incursion into my integrity. I looked ahead starry eyed, a rabbit in the headlights of the media.
And then I said no. I stared at the phone and nearly called to change my mind. I picked up my laptop and nearly emailed. I berated myself, I berated them. I felt my 9 years hard work had been squandered, my big break handed away on a platter. And then on the third day the anxiety went away with a sigh of relief.
A friend of mine says that whenever you do something that is out of your normal habit anxiety comes, but if you can ride through the anxiety you can change your life.
I craned my neck sideways to converse with him. I've had this idea I said, what about TV? something like Strictly Come Belly Dancing (but steering away from the amateurism of the Generation Game). "You know what they're looking for in those programmes" he said "they want arguments, tears, drama.." "I know" I replied, confident in my own integrity, "but it's the other people that do that".
Cue a bus journey, eerily also through Holborn, just a week later. I was calling back a researcher from the BBC. Strictly Come Dancing Two had psychically picked up my message and they were looking for belly dancers. Or maybe they had picked up my email. Yes I said, before the lady on the phone had even begun to speak. That's great. "So you will just be chatting, watching the show and then making comments." In costume. "Yes." I said. barely hearing.
I rallied the troupes, puffed up my Moroccan style cushions, locked away the cat and painted on my make up and my blue lycra Egyptian costume. The other two girls were excited too. "It's weird we're not dancing though" they said as we pinned each other into our costumes. Yeah well never mind.
We sat together in a row in front of the camera and watched the programme (bearing in mind I'm a one hour a month TV viewer) trying to gather who was who. "Feel free to say if you think he's fit" the researcher cued "do you like her costume?" Of course on the day we'll supply you with wine so you feel more relaxed. I didn't mention the fact that I don't drink and this was about as relaxed as I was going to get without an hour's meditation.
In the space of five minutes I had accused a women I didn't know of looking like a bird and showing too much cleavage and a man of looking like a cross between Elvis Presley and an ice skater. This one was too stiff, that one had a smile glued to her face and so it went on. The three of us gossiping together on the cushions, egged on subtlely by the woman behind the camera. She played us back a clip and I saw myself in full costume complete with furrowed brow as the Dot Cotton of belly dancers.
"You were great. We'll let you know" she told us. We were excited, the adrenaline was pumping, the challenge was over but we wanted more, to keep watching and commenting. To make funnier and more outlandish comments. I wondered to myself why i hadn't been more extravert, I should have jumped up and shown them how it was done with a shimmy for the camera. Reluctantly I handed her back her DVD and offered her a sweet baklava (Middle Eastern pastry). She liked them. We put them all in a plastic bag for her to take home.
Later on our smiles faded a little as we wiped off our make up. One girl was worried what people she knew might think if they saw her and her belly dancer's cleavage on TV slating people. "Its just not the normal thing I would say; he's fit or she's a tart". I went to bed. I stared at the wall, chased the cat, and read a chapter from Robert Fisk's history of the Middle East. Some people have died for the principals they have laid down.
We were called back. Two of us had been selected. They wanted to match us up with the two bolder girls from another group, including a former student I had trianed of lesser experience who was trying to emulate and outshine me. Another incursion into my integrity. I looked ahead starry eyed, a rabbit in the headlights of the media.
And then I said no. I stared at the phone and nearly called to change my mind. I picked up my laptop and nearly emailed. I berated myself, I berated them. I felt my 9 years hard work had been squandered, my big break handed away on a platter. And then on the third day the anxiety went away with a sigh of relief.
A friend of mine says that whenever you do something that is out of your normal habit anxiety comes, but if you can ride through the anxiety you can change your life.
posted by Accidental Belly Dancer at 10:46 am
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