Borwick Hall is an amazing place. A three dimensional stone maze, the oldest part was built in the twelfth century, long before the invention of the right angle. It should have a sign over the front gate saying “mind the step”. It’s supposed to be haunted, but I saw no sign of any ghosts. I expect they had all been scared away by a whirlwind of noise, colour, glitter and loud music.

The weekend started slowly, like a piece of music starting with a taqsim. Four of us from the Isle of Man arrived early on Friday afternoon, dumped our bags, and asked a staff member if he could recommend a nice walk to fill in the time. He summed up our needs at a glance and directed us to the nearest pub. This turned out to be a pleasant twenty minute stroll away along leafy sunlit lanes.

By the time we got back to the Hall, Michelle had arrived, with the entire contents of a small shop packed into her car. She asked us for help setting up the Bazaar and we were only too happy to oblige. Imagine dance clothes - skirts, tops, veils, hip scarves, head scarves, shoes, rings, armbands and more - in every colour you can think of and a few more you didn’t know existed, sewn with beads, coins, sequins and fringes, piled high and sprinkled with glitter. Simply unpacking them and setting them out on rails and tables was a fantastic experience.

By teatime nearly everyone had arrived, despite the best efforts of the traffic on the M6. There was a choice of three workshops: Jazz up your Dance with Caroline, a Saiidi stick dance with Helen, or, for the very weary, a nice peaceful talk on costume from Michelle. I opted for Caroline’s.

Two hours later, exhausted and aching in some very strange places - Caroline is a hard taskmaster! - we met up in the bar, which had been transformed into a place of eastern splendour by the application of many yards of saris and glittering scarves. Just when we were beginning to think about bedtime, Michelle issued an invitation:- “Anyone who likes drumming, come through into the Panelled Room” .

It was pitch dark in there, lit only by a few candles in the centre on the uneven floor. We sat on the very comfortable carpet and drummed, or stood and danced a few steps, just as we liked. It was all very strange and atmospheric.

I finally got to bed about 1:30am.

Saturday was the main day of work. Caroline’s workshop was packed full of incredibly useful stuff. She began at the beginning: how to walk on, start your dance, bring in one movement, add another, change to something different. In spite of the whip cracking over my head, I found that I enjoyed it. The afternoon was spent with Helen, learning some strange and complicated new moves. We looked at pictures of eastern artwork, then got into groups to interpret those pattern in dance. I found myself working with two people I had never met before, and together we worked out some steps which could form the basis of a very pretty little choreography.

I haven’t mentioned the food yet. All the meals took place in the canteen and were excellent, with a good choice of vegetarian and non-vegetarian dishes.

We were busy again after tea, preparing for the hafla. Chrissy was trying to choose the music for her dance. She played through track after track but none of them was just right, too long, too bouncy, too fast or too slow. Alison was not sure if she would dance at all, she didn’t feel inspired. Adrienne and I went out into the corridor to walk through the steps of our dance routine, as there was no room to swing a veil in our low beamed room.

The hafla was due to start at half past eight. In true Middle Eastern style, Caroline popped her head round the door of the bar at about nine thirty and said, “Oh dear, are you all waiting?” We trouped behind her into the main hall, which had been dressed for the occasion with wall hangings, many candles and lamps, and more saris. We started proceedings with a belly dance version of “Cotton-eye Joe”, which I wouldn’t have believed either if someone had told me about it. It may have raised a few eyebrows but it got us up and moving.

Everyone looked stunning. Everyone had made a real effort and the room was ablaze with vivid colours and sparkles. Everyone looked good dancing. Adrienne and I were on second doing a simple veil dance to a lovely tune. Chrissy showed off her brand new sword dancing skills to tremendous applause. Alison danced beautifully a piece of original music played by a local Manx band. One performance followed another, solos and groups with general dancing in between. Once again, just as the evening looked like winding down, Michelle brought out her drums and got us moving again. There is nothing like the feeling of dancing to a live drum-beat.

This time we got to bed at two a.m. In Cairo the party would be just beginning.

Morning brought with it a huge Borwick breakfast, followed by a quiz which added considerably to my knowledge of dance music and styles. We finished with final light-hearted class with Helen, involving just about every different sort of shimmy you can think of. It also involved the beginnings of a business plan for a very unusual cocktail bar:- “How do you like your martini - shimmied or stirred?”. But then, perhaps fortunately, it was time to call a halt, say goodbye to all our new friends, thank our teachers and go home.

It’s going to take more than a four hour boat journey to catch up on all my lost sleep.

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