Morganstown, a lesser-known jewel in the crown

Morganstown seems an unlikely place to travel to. But with Morganstown comes some of the most gentle, warm and welcoming people I have had the opportunity to embrace. They welcome me like a child returning home, and their 10th anniversary party, on no account could be missed.

I was not disappointed. Welcomed at the door, I was fed like a queen on their banquet of goodies. That should have in itself been enough, but they had persuaded their friend and good neighbour Eduardo fresh from BA to teach workshops, entertain us with stories and play to us some of the finer selections from his musical library. Not once was I refused a dance, and I was invited many times despite sporting the reddest nose this side of Lapland.

I was enchanted. The room at times was awash with emotion as the hosts for this fine weekend worked tirelessly. It’s a weekend that quiet valley will not quickly forget.

I also had the opportunity to discover a little more about the man who is known as Eduardo. We collaborated on a short interview, resistance was futile.

The fortunes of 33

The mystery surrounding the overnight closure of 33 Portland place was quickly overtaken by the welcome news that 33 had moved, migrated and found a residence of majesty, splendour and candlelight to entertain the fairer folk of London!
They are now appearing at Porchester Hall, where they offer Tango by candlelight with free nibbles and wine, in a delightful, friendly atmosphere. Thank God!
The fate of their former host, seems as yet still uncertain. Having enjoyed the hospitality of his residence, at 33 which gave these excellent people the setting for the most exquisite tango I have experienced, I bid him a fond farewell.

The cat crept into The Crypt...

... and was entertained all evening.

Unfortunately, her host the following night was indisposed, so the delights of 33 were placed on hold pending her Majesty's pleasure.

This is all we know.

I really should get out more

After weeks of being secluded by the snow, I found the darker depths of London a welcome relief.

I had a night of waiting, watching and some exquisite tandas at the Negracha club and the pleasure of being able to dance till 3am

My friends howled with laughter at the title of my blog "Lizzy's Lashes". "Sounds like an S&M site" one commented.

Ooops. I've added a by-line hoping to clarify the nature of the content, but with regret may have to rename it, so that "it does what it says on the tin"

To hell and back

The arctic weather has sent me crazy. After a week of slush, sleet and freezing conditions I’m broken. My mind, body and soul are in desperate need of some serious tango attention. I need to get out like a drunk needs drink, so I’m heading to London, to dance until my feet kill me and beg to go home, and the thought of being frozen in with no way out is a damned relief.
It’s a daunting cocktail I’ve arranged. The newly “re-decorated” Negracha Club with appalling toilets and even worse floor craft, the lovely Crypt followed by the exquisite wonders of 33. This weekend is going to be one long milonga. If I can squeeze in Mariposa on Sunday afternoon I’ll be seriously impressed.

Connection 2: Seaweed

 

Seaweed
Standing, eyes closed,
I feel your breath.
perfectly calm, a breeze, a flutter, the quick swirl of movement.

I touch your hand.
It rizes slowly, the enchantement is deep.

Slowly, in perfect silence,
I move your body.
Your senses waiting for every gesture.
Quietly, I lay you to rest,

Still

Poem 2004: Image 2010

The importance of connection

I saw these trees today, they reminded me of some moments in dance that are stunningly different. These poems were written when working with a contemporary dance group in Coventry. Together, they capture the best and the worst moments of dance. Beautiful enchantment, and an entangled mess.

Synchronicity

We stand in tension,
United and yet quite apart.
I watch you move,
then follow slowly, deviating quietly,
creating my own patterns within your tanglements. 

LL Poem Oct 2004; Image January 2010

The cold light of dawn

It’s morning, and the cold light of dawn strikes me between the eyes, I’m musing.

Shall I write a potted history of my journey so far, or live hard and tell the tale, letting the history unfold as the year unravels?

Plan B I think. Live hard and tell the tale. Restricted use of images and dialogue. I’ll cut a new path in tango as sharp as a blade on ice. LizzyLashes, every step leaving it's mark.

A dress and a beginning

It was snowing hard, and I was deep into action on Ebay, bidding furiously for that little Coast number. It was fucking freezing. The text chat popped up, desperately trying to kill it off, I agreed to "what ever" in the last few frenzied minutes of bidding. It was a cool little number, and believe me the Bramshaw set are hard to penetrate. It would take a few well put together outfits and some exquisite heels, before the alpha males in that room would even glance in my direction. And, it just so happened, I was a tanguera on a mission.
It was later when I found a link to a blog that it twigged what I’d agreed to. Write a blog and tell the world was I was doing? Not a chance! Yet, the idea of anonymity beguiled me. Only he and I would know, and let’s be honest it will knock the pants off the Diary of Ann Frank.


.