Saturday – I have one sodden ball of tissue to staunch the tears rolling down my cheeks and I’m making a spectacle of myself. Well – I would be, if all those around me weren’t riveted by the spectacle in front of me. Mimi, hiding behind a fire-escape, overhears the real reason she has been abandoned by Rodolfo. I’m in the second row at Glyndebourne, watching La Bohème, treated by a friend. I finally get the appeal of opera; I’ve seen a few over the years, but none has had this effect. A grubby, freezing kitchen in a squalid student flat reminds me of life in the early 1970s. But it’s not that memory that moves me: the pathos of the situation, the characterisation, the huge swelling music a few feet away, the exquisite soaring voices  – all combine in a wave of emotion. Heightened, it has to be said, by the wine… sniff, dab.

Monday 9am – I’m signed in by a young blonde woman, her breasts dusted with glitter (9am!) Not a dodgy club – it’s the Pavilion Theatre in Brighton. ‘Aaah’ she says (as in ‘Bless!’) – we’re Over-60s. Actually we’re extras in auditions for a Rehearsal Director for the new Three Score dance project. (Why am I doing this?). The first candidate, Jason, takes us through some sequences: a discus-throwing swing, skips, circling arms; then lift toes, down, lift, down, lift foot, down, bend other leg, straighten other… the 60-year mind/body (well, mine) doesn’t retain this easily. But Ginny’s audition is more personal, quirkier, and somehow I can hold onto these moves: circle the face, cradle the head, rotate the arm, over, back… My body’s waking up. I’m taller somehow. I want to be a dancer now… (Over-60s – bless…).

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