October 2005

by Jo Elliott

AGM should stand for Annual General Mayhem. Most of us avoid meetings like the plague. However, we in Hediya have done our best to sweeten the pill, with a free dance session, and a “bring and share” meal.

I have made yet another attempt to bake baklava. A little more successful than last time, I think, but not quite perfect. I followed the recipe exactly, too. Claudia Rodin’s oven must bake a little more slowly than mine. I hurriedly pack the cakes into a tub, eating the broken bits as I go. I’m running late, as usual. Still, baklava makes a good energy rich breakfast.

It’s good to see Chrissy again. She has had a wonderful time in America, she says. When I arrive she is busy setting out her stock of dance clothes and jewellery for the Bazaar. I head for the kitchen to make the coffee (do we detect a pattern here?). Other people arrive. Cathy has brought some overskirts of her own making. Julie has some fantastic Aztec jewellery and a number of Egyptian glass perfume bottles. What with one thing and another, the class gets off to a very late start.

Just to be different, we are doing some circle dances today; Greek, Israeli and Eastern European. Some of us have done them before, at Chrissy’s now-defunct “Dance for Women” class, but they are new to most. We dance the “easiest dance in the world”, then a “grape vine with fancy bits”, and “everybody’s favourite.” After that we pause for breath, and everybody, slowly and inevitably, drifts back to the other end of the room and the Bazaar.

“DOES ANYBODY HERE ACTUALLY WANT TO DANCE?” Chrissy’s raised voice recalls us to our senses and our positions. We work through three more dances, and then it’s time for lunch. As usual, there is plenty of food, and all of it good. Lots of salads, because we are a very healthy bunch. Goodies both home made and M & S. Plenty of fruit. And Cakes. And coffee. At last we can no longer put off the inevitable.

And so finally, to the meeting. It always surprises me, every time, that these meetings go so smoothly. To be a dancer on this deeply traditional island, you must be a woman of strong character and determination, to be able to withstand the amusement of your colleagues and the mockery of your kids. Putting so many outsized personalities round one table sounds like a recipe for disaster. But it doesn’t happen. The odd feather may be ruffled, but no blood is spilled. The reports are read, business is dealt with, the dates are decided. No-one else volunteers for the committee so Chrissy, Karey, Ali and I are stuck with it for another year. Not that we mind. It’s all good fun, after all.

The final vexed question: what are we going to do about forming a troupe to perform in public? We can arrange a practice time. When? Someone is busy every day of the week Finally we decide on a short session following the Saturday morning class.

So: we have a practice time. Now where are the brave dancers?

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