Love

Can I just say:

It is a privilege to dance and to interact with people who love me, who set a value on me as a dancer, as a person, as a woman, even in a few cases as a writer. Men and women who take the trouble to say a few sincere, kind words of appreciation if they enjoy dancing or being with me or they like my smile or think my dress is nice today. People who will do something or say something to make me feel better if I seem hurt. You know who you are.

People for whom "how are you", is more than an empty shell thrown in passing - and contains, if no extravagant pearl of true affection, at least an honest oyster of genuine regard for some minor contribution or other that I make to their lives.

I hope I return it as best I can. Even if I can't give back what every pearl is worth, that doesn't mean I don't value them. I know what a privilege and an honour it is to be loved.

(Rubbish metaphor there - I don't even like oysters. They always make me ill. I don't know what the hell I was thinking last time I ordered them. I must have been trying to impress my Dad.)

And an administrative note: there are lots of comments, and I still have no computer. I'll hoist some of the interesting bits, over the weekend, if I get time.