Standing close and yet very far away

There are many of these pictures these days, of smiling soldiers on the front of newspapers, stories we don't want to read. But this face was different, a woman in full combat gear, a pretty glowing smile. I felt compelled to read on and there on the second page was a picture that connected me to her. One where I had been standing just feet away. The clocktower at Sandhurst striking 12 and the fireworks exploding in the background.

I hadn't thought much of it when I was first invited to perform at Sandhurst Military Academy in December. A very polite request via email many months in advance made me think little off it. I had danced at military events before. Not just for the popular Moroccan themed summer balls at army bases but also for groups including officers from Gulf states over here for training and sometimes on the premise of getting the troops aclimatised and ready for Iraq.

The enormity of the Sandhurst booking only struck me days before, when my mum called me to say Prince William would be passing out at this event. I was a little disconcerted as I sat having my nails manicured to live reports from Sandhurst on the radio. I felt unable to reply to the usual chit chat, "you going out tonight?". My Korean manicurist smiled politely as I explained I would be dancing at the event just announced on the radio. "That's nice - hot pink OK?" Hot pink, I believe was just the ticket.

After registering at the security desk I was escorted to the pre-ball drinks where I would be performing. It was a hall of residence for one 'division' (military terminology fails me here) of the officers graduating. (Not, I must emphasise, PW's). I went off to change in a room with regulation brown lino carpet, passing young men in various coloured short jackets and tight trousers, and occasionally women in skirts and the same jackets. The women astounded me, their very presence, the strength of mind and the honesty they represented - no nail breaking or jacket-borrowing in their presence. I felt a little odd, being treated chivalrously and led around, getting changed into my navy and pink trim costume (inspired by the military), my sequined bra. I was here as entertainment, they were here to change the world.

The officer leading me to my room had apologised for the pin up of a girl in a bikini on the ceiling of the room. Yet here I stood, clad in lycra costume with rhinestone trim with full on make-up and pink lip gloss, a graduate too - like the confident girls in uniform, a sometime feminist. I waved the thoughts aside, wielded my gold dancing sword confidently and swished down the corridor, past glass cases with real antique swords in them, to meet my contact who escorted me to the bar.

After a couple of wobbly dances, getting through the mental anguish that every woman in the room probably hated me, I started to warm up. I completed my sword balancing and then it was time to have a little fun. I grabbed 3 kilt wearing officers with the encouragement of the audience leading them in a kilt belly dance which included the conga, twirling around and skirt swishing. After this I found my niche, working the crowd, dancing my way down to the bar, chatting a bit. I had found my rhythm - every occasion has the right format - you just have to find it. One of the guys mentioned "its great, even the girls love you!".

Following an hour of what agents call 'meet and greet' I got changed, reluctantly, back into my civvies and to my surprise Cinderella-like I was invited to the ball. We made our way down past the funfair, into the labyrinth of enormous rooms with live bands, DJs, makeshift bars and already drunk revellers. But soon everyone was heading outside to the clock tower - at midnight graduates officially become officers, when they uncover the pips on their uniforms to reveal their official rank. We found a centre spot and I was so excited for these young enthusiastic officers, the fireworks lighting their cheeks, their eyes sparkling. It was hard not to be inspired to join them, in their enthusiasm, their frankness, their naivity.

And there was the picture in the paper last week, of Joanna Dyer, her cheeks shining. A woman I stood close to on that night, but never met. Whom we lost, without realising we had her, standing close to us.