The train journey to Paris began in the late afternoon with the mist already hanging like a thick blanket caught in mid sweep over this ghostly bed of bare spindly trees and empty fields lying in wait for the thaw. It descended in slow motion, inch by inch, as we sped passed many quaint and decidedly French villages on the main artery from what is possibly France's groin (Toulouse) to it's heart - Paris. Beside us a small river whose name i do not know kept pace for much of the journey as we swayed and rocked in our cocoon on rails. I love trains. Who doesnt? As the sun sank the moon rose , full and bleeding in the sunset, draped magnificently in a gown of mist.
Our seats were luxurious and comfortable and frequent trips to the bar for snacks and beers (and even a dvd) kept us well oiled and cosy throughout the latter part of the (six hour?) trip. At one point a couple sat across the aisle from us with their very new baby - very cute - with head a bobble on his wobbly neck and eyes a goggle at the big life around and ahead of him. We seem to attract babies, Dani and I, there is one across the hall from us in our apartment hotel here in Paris that gurgles and coos, cries and giggles. I think of Kai and Ethan when i see or hear babies and i miss them terribly and marvel at my love for them.
Paris is... well it's Paris. Magnificent and sprawling, graceful and elegant in it's age, robust in it's character and bustling on the cusp of the ever changing here and now. We are staying in (it must be said) quite an ugly part of this achingly beautiful city and i have spent most of my time in rehearsal in the bowels of the National Centre for Dance - a huge brown grey monstrosity of modern architecture as Dani gallivants about town. She brings me tales of her adventures - the Louvre (where she spent a good deal of time watching people watch the Mona Lisa), Notre Dame - she partook in mass - complete with communion and the entire glorious edifice awash with the echo of beautiful voice in song , the Picasso Museum (where she learned that she didnt have to love everything the great master did and therefore allowing herself to love what she does even more. The other night we walked in a semi circle after dinner in Marais toward Pont Neuf station. Drunk with the sights we stumbled in awe past Notre Dame bathed in light, towering above us - smacking our gobs and blowing our minds. Even Phillipe, our French lighting designer so over all things French had to admit in his thick French accent that 'This, she is beautiful.'
Today we venture out in to the city together - me and Dani - i only have to be at rehearsals at 3 - and so i am chomping at the bit. Catacombs here we come.
We will post some pics soon - probably tonight, there are many.
Love to all at home.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
a new year
it's been a while since i did this and so much (and so little) has changed. i haven't written anything since Mary and I clinched the title in spectacular fashion in a thrilling season finale. Still now, i don't feel i can give a full account of the how, why's and what's. I guess the long and the short of it is that we won. We did three dances - our tango (for which we scored another four 10's) , our jive (three 10s and a 9) and a freestyle vibe (another gobsmacking four 10's). I don't feel ready to go into the whole rundown in detail, except to say that it felt a little like a cheesy hollywood sports/dance movie where the scores are unbelievable, the crowd is on their feet and even the judges are in tears. This all actually happened.
But right now, what's really interesting to me is how quickly life has moved on. I have decided to continue writing this blog - even though the only person who reads it is my gran - in fact that's probably why i'm doing it - always nice to know you have a friendly audience. I contemplated changing the name of the blog - but for now it stays as Strictly Come Blogging - because in truth, without the show, the blog would never have happened. However the subject matter is about to change drastically.
And so - on with the present. I am in France, rehearsing and preparing for a contemporary dance theatre piece that has been commissioned by a choreographic institute in Toulouse and that will tour France for the next two months. The choreographer - someone who i have worked with before (years ago on a very strange play directed by a mad alcoholic French woman) didnt want to work with dancers and so collected a rather strange and delightful group of people to help her create the piece. As is so often the case with a collaborative process such as this one - where there is very little overriding vision and therefore just way too many options - the creative process becomes riddled with frustration, peppered with moments of inspiration, seasoned with a fair share of hair pulling and stirred up with a generous helping of eye rolling and raucous belly laughter.
Currently we are based in Toulouse and we play to our first audience on Friday before premiering in Paris. All pretty daunting for a piece that does not yet have an ending. But these are merely details. What is really important right now is the vast amount of dog shit that litters the streets of this , one of the fastest growing cities in France. It's everywhere. In truth, i cannot tell you what the Toulouse skyline looks like. It is too dangerous to look up. Dani and i are contemplating creating a photo essay chronicling the myriad different specimens we encounter daily. Please forgive our vulgarity - it is a coping mechanism more than anything else.
Up until now, my days have been filled with rehearsals and more rehearsals with sporadic and all too brief sojourns into the city and its sights. Today however was a day off and we took the opportunity to get out of town entirely. Upon the advice of Pethso - our production manager on the French side, Dani and I ventured south to the fortified and walled Medievel Town of Carcassone. Like the pamphlet says , this marvel bears witness to 2600 years of history wherein Gauls, Romans, Visigoths, Saracens and Franks have all left their mark. The whole experience was truly magical.
After video skyping home this morning - giving us a much needed visual reference of loved ones and my rapidly growing and quite unbelievably amazing nephews - we set off in the snow. It was my first time and as a 32 year old man i felt a giddy child like glee as i caught my first snowflake on my tongue, stupidly surprised somehow of how cold it was, as we two tightly wrapped intrepid adventureers set off across town - dodging poo that was rapidly becoming cunningly disguised as snow poos- toward the train station. The train turned out to be a bus - because our French sucks - and in a desperate sprint to the station i managed to trip and face plant myself in front of one of the busses pulling out of the station. There i was lying spreadeagled on the pavement about to be squashed by the very efficient French public transport system. The bus driver, thankfully, was awake to my bumbling buffoonery and applied brakes swiftly before admonishing me with dashing Gaelic eyebrows as i scrambled off and away to our bus. The bus ride was cool. Dani asleep on my lap, me listening to a fine collection of tunes on her ipod as we glided along narrow roads through gently cascading fields of naked vines sparsely populated by leaveless trees stretching their bony fingers up to tickle the sad grey face of the brittle sky. It was all very Tim Burton - just more french. And then through quaint little villages where the grace and beauty of old, old, old buildings nestle uncomfortably with the garish, squat ugliness of the new. And every now and again - these unspeakably beautiful statues of either Mary or Jesus in tiny squares with bare trees which taunt you with their timeless and fragile elegance.
And so we arrived - and walked in the gently falling snow through a walled city that i thought only existed in very tales. Me and my wife. Totally rad.
We are back now in our tiny little room in Toulouse, my wine is spent and the snow continues to dance lightly in the street lamp outside my window. I am tired and happy and long to crawl into bed.
And so ...
But right now, what's really interesting to me is how quickly life has moved on. I have decided to continue writing this blog - even though the only person who reads it is my gran - in fact that's probably why i'm doing it - always nice to know you have a friendly audience. I contemplated changing the name of the blog - but for now it stays as Strictly Come Blogging - because in truth, without the show, the blog would never have happened. However the subject matter is about to change drastically.
And so - on with the present. I am in France, rehearsing and preparing for a contemporary dance theatre piece that has been commissioned by a choreographic institute in Toulouse and that will tour France for the next two months. The choreographer - someone who i have worked with before (years ago on a very strange play directed by a mad alcoholic French woman) didnt want to work with dancers and so collected a rather strange and delightful group of people to help her create the piece. As is so often the case with a collaborative process such as this one - where there is very little overriding vision and therefore just way too many options - the creative process becomes riddled with frustration, peppered with moments of inspiration, seasoned with a fair share of hair pulling and stirred up with a generous helping of eye rolling and raucous belly laughter.
Currently we are based in Toulouse and we play to our first audience on Friday before premiering in Paris. All pretty daunting for a piece that does not yet have an ending. But these are merely details. What is really important right now is the vast amount of dog shit that litters the streets of this , one of the fastest growing cities in France. It's everywhere. In truth, i cannot tell you what the Toulouse skyline looks like. It is too dangerous to look up. Dani and i are contemplating creating a photo essay chronicling the myriad different specimens we encounter daily. Please forgive our vulgarity - it is a coping mechanism more than anything else.
Up until now, my days have been filled with rehearsals and more rehearsals with sporadic and all too brief sojourns into the city and its sights. Today however was a day off and we took the opportunity to get out of town entirely. Upon the advice of Pethso - our production manager on the French side, Dani and I ventured south to the fortified and walled Medievel Town of Carcassone. Like the pamphlet says , this marvel bears witness to 2600 years of history wherein Gauls, Romans, Visigoths, Saracens and Franks have all left their mark. The whole experience was truly magical.
After video skyping home this morning - giving us a much needed visual reference of loved ones and my rapidly growing and quite unbelievably amazing nephews - we set off in the snow. It was my first time and as a 32 year old man i felt a giddy child like glee as i caught my first snowflake on my tongue, stupidly surprised somehow of how cold it was, as we two tightly wrapped intrepid adventureers set off across town - dodging poo that was rapidly becoming cunningly disguised as snow poos- toward the train station. The train turned out to be a bus - because our French sucks - and in a desperate sprint to the station i managed to trip and face plant myself in front of one of the busses pulling out of the station. There i was lying spreadeagled on the pavement about to be squashed by the very efficient French public transport system. The bus driver, thankfully, was awake to my bumbling buffoonery and applied brakes swiftly before admonishing me with dashing Gaelic eyebrows as i scrambled off and away to our bus. The bus ride was cool. Dani asleep on my lap, me listening to a fine collection of tunes on her ipod as we glided along narrow roads through gently cascading fields of naked vines sparsely populated by leaveless trees stretching their bony fingers up to tickle the sad grey face of the brittle sky. It was all very Tim Burton - just more french. And then through quaint little villages where the grace and beauty of old, old, old buildings nestle uncomfortably with the garish, squat ugliness of the new. And every now and again - these unspeakably beautiful statues of either Mary or Jesus in tiny squares with bare trees which taunt you with their timeless and fragile elegance.
And so we arrived - and walked in the gently falling snow through a walled city that i thought only existed in very tales. Me and my wife. Totally rad.
We are back now in our tiny little room in Toulouse, my wine is spent and the snow continues to dance lightly in the street lamp outside my window. I am tired and happy and long to crawl into bed.
And so ...
Friday, January 2, 2009
nosferatu and a tango
The build up to this weeks semi-final was wrought with fatigue, tension and stress. Our rehearsals were a worrying mix of short , powerful bursts of positive progress and then draining sessions of frustrating drudgery. Mary struggled with choreography, spending many hours doubting her efforts, while I struggled with exhaustion, stomach cramps and a generally depressed grumpy vibe. However, our desire to come back strong in reply to Tess and Grants phenomenal performances in the previous week could not be quelled. We wanted it bad.
Our main strategy throughout the week of rehearsals was to concentrate on getting the technique right and specifically to address my posture and strength from the core. I worked really hard on creating a solid base in my core and thereby dance from the centre, through the floor and avoid the flailing lack of control I tend to exhibit from time to time. We had a really tough session on the Wednesday. We were racing against time, having only barely finished the choreography to both dances as the tension in the build up to the epic two couple elimination in the semi finals loomed. In fact, our Tango was without an intro or an outro. The pressure was on. May had wanted to do a couple more hours that night in reply to the five hours we had already done that day and the countless more in the preceding rehearsals and I was having none of it. I was gatvol, tired, and full of kak. I figured that we were pushing ourselves too far and that if we didn’t have it by now that night it would prove to be fruitless and may just take the oomph out of our drive for the big day following. Mary, bless her, sensed that I was reaching some sort of breaking point and decided that we should just fly into the remaining hours of the afternoon rehearsal and leave it at that. We decided to soldier on, take a break in the evening, and then treat the Thursday as a rehearsal, going hard at it during the day and drive straight on through into the performance.
Thursday felt like what I imagine the Comrades marathon must feel like. It was tough. Our first foray onto the ballroom floor was (as always) nothing short of disastrous. It always takes a while for me to re-orientate myself to the dimensions of the floor and it’s atmosphere which is way different to the rehearsal floors we work on. The Tango, especially gave me problems. We just couldn’t get through the entire routine and we were still without an intro. We kept at it though, with a dogged determination, and the sweat flowed freely in makeshift rehearsal rooms in the empty shell of a building that is the Carlton Hotel.
By late that afternoon, my energy was down and I had been blown away by what I had seen of Grant and Tessa’s Tango and Paso Doble. They seemed flawless and are always so well prepared on that Thursday morning. There were real moments of doubt throughout the day when I felt like we just didn’t have what it took to outscore them, or Cindy and Jonathan for that matter.
However, it must be said that I love the two routines that Mary had come up with for the night and I felt a deep affinity for the nature of both the Tango and the Paso Doble. I did truly believe that if I didn’t cock them up we could also have a winner on our hands. I went into a very focused zone in the two hours before the show and just spent as much time as possible visualizing the routines on the floor and practicing them over and over wherever I could find a space.
Tess and Grant scored very highly for their first dance, I can’t remember exactly what because I was trying very hard to focus on what we were doing but I do remember that it was way over our highest score in the competition so far. As we walked out onto that floor I squeezed Mary’s hand really hard and she told me after that when she felt that she knew we were going to do something special. The actual routine is a blur, I remember this constant voice in my head saying things like; ‘keep you elbows up, drop your shoulders, push down through your supporting leg, lift your chin, drop your shoulders, hold your core, heel – toe, focus, contra, don’t break your frame etc’
The feedback from the judges was amazing – I cant remember exactly what they said, I just remember that it was rad.
And then the scores. Four tens for the Tango and three tens and a nine for the Paso –giving us a total score of 79 out of 80. The mind boggles.
Needless to say we are through to the finals. I am still a little bit in shock, totally exhausted and happier than a pig in poo.
See you guys in the finals.
Our main strategy throughout the week of rehearsals was to concentrate on getting the technique right and specifically to address my posture and strength from the core. I worked really hard on creating a solid base in my core and thereby dance from the centre, through the floor and avoid the flailing lack of control I tend to exhibit from time to time. We had a really tough session on the Wednesday. We were racing against time, having only barely finished the choreography to both dances as the tension in the build up to the epic two couple elimination in the semi finals loomed. In fact, our Tango was without an intro or an outro. The pressure was on. May had wanted to do a couple more hours that night in reply to the five hours we had already done that day and the countless more in the preceding rehearsals and I was having none of it. I was gatvol, tired, and full of kak. I figured that we were pushing ourselves too far and that if we didn’t have it by now that night it would prove to be fruitless and may just take the oomph out of our drive for the big day following. Mary, bless her, sensed that I was reaching some sort of breaking point and decided that we should just fly into the remaining hours of the afternoon rehearsal and leave it at that. We decided to soldier on, take a break in the evening, and then treat the Thursday as a rehearsal, going hard at it during the day and drive straight on through into the performance.
Thursday felt like what I imagine the Comrades marathon must feel like. It was tough. Our first foray onto the ballroom floor was (as always) nothing short of disastrous. It always takes a while for me to re-orientate myself to the dimensions of the floor and it’s atmosphere which is way different to the rehearsal floors we work on. The Tango, especially gave me problems. We just couldn’t get through the entire routine and we were still without an intro. We kept at it though, with a dogged determination, and the sweat flowed freely in makeshift rehearsal rooms in the empty shell of a building that is the Carlton Hotel.
By late that afternoon, my energy was down and I had been blown away by what I had seen of Grant and Tessa’s Tango and Paso Doble. They seemed flawless and are always so well prepared on that Thursday morning. There were real moments of doubt throughout the day when I felt like we just didn’t have what it took to outscore them, or Cindy and Jonathan for that matter.
However, it must be said that I love the two routines that Mary had come up with for the night and I felt a deep affinity for the nature of both the Tango and the Paso Doble. I did truly believe that if I didn’t cock them up we could also have a winner on our hands. I went into a very focused zone in the two hours before the show and just spent as much time as possible visualizing the routines on the floor and practicing them over and over wherever I could find a space.
Tess and Grant scored very highly for their first dance, I can’t remember exactly what because I was trying very hard to focus on what we were doing but I do remember that it was way over our highest score in the competition so far. As we walked out onto that floor I squeezed Mary’s hand really hard and she told me after that when she felt that she knew we were going to do something special. The actual routine is a blur, I remember this constant voice in my head saying things like; ‘keep you elbows up, drop your shoulders, push down through your supporting leg, lift your chin, drop your shoulders, hold your core, heel – toe, focus, contra, don’t break your frame etc’
The feedback from the judges was amazing – I cant remember exactly what they said, I just remember that it was rad.
And then the scores. Four tens for the Tango and three tens and a nine for the Paso –giving us a total score of 79 out of 80. The mind boggles.
Needless to say we are through to the finals. I am still a little bit in shock, totally exhausted and happier than a pig in poo.
See you guys in the finals.
spaz-boy
Where to begin? Perhaps with the big drama of the moment. Garth and Hayley are back in it, resurrected from the dead – he’s like a flippen vampire this guy – what do we have to do to get rid of him – cut off his head and drive a stake through his heart?!
In all seriousness, I’m glad to have the big guy back – he’s quite inspirational to have around and his philosophical outlook on life is uplifting and rad – I look forward to our lunchtime conversations about life , the universe and bodybuilding.
Thursday was a real tester for Mary and I. I had to be rushed off to the physio in the morning as my body seems to think these last two weeks are just a bridge too far. My legs are holding on by a slender thread and I did those routines on the night strapped up more tightly than a Mummy at an athletics meeting. We got through it all, only to be called spastic by Mr. Tact himself, Tyrone. It’s the first time I’ve been in the firing line and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t affect me. Rationally one has to accept that it’s just a tv show and one shouldn’t take those comments personally, but the reality is that it’s been a tough 15 or so weeks, putting your private life (and personal relationships) on hold so that you can spend all your time sweating it out on the dance floor and then go out on national television dressed like a loon and make yourself completely vulnerable so that some guy with a ponytail can call you a spaz. Nice.
However, after I’d cried myself a river, I built a bridge and got over it. It did help a little bit telling Tyrone in the break that I thought his ponytail was cutting off the circulation to his brain. I hope he can take a joke, otherwise who knows what he’s going to call me this week. All the bitterness and sensitivity aside, I actually really dig Tyrone, I like his brutal honesty and his whole tough nut demeanor. It makes for great tv and most of the time his comments are constructive and they do give you something to work on going forward. I think the judges also have a tough job and it can’t be easy telling it how you see it and then half the country wants to moer you because of it.
I have managed to decipher the ‘spastic’ comment with the help of some interpreters and am working hard in the week ahead on posture and core strength. Basically what Tyrone is looking for is to dance more from my centre and through the floor and not so much through the outer extremities – no flapping about like a spaz. So that’s where we are at now – surging ahead with the Paso and the Tango and trying hard not to let the debilitating gastro stomach cramp vibes that had me lying in the foetal postion moaning like a depressed drunk last night get in the way of a triumphant return to the –floor.
Sorry this missive from strictly land is so short but time is at a premium and latin shoes wait for no man. Thanks for the support.
In all seriousness, I’m glad to have the big guy back – he’s quite inspirational to have around and his philosophical outlook on life is uplifting and rad – I look forward to our lunchtime conversations about life , the universe and bodybuilding.
Thursday was a real tester for Mary and I. I had to be rushed off to the physio in the morning as my body seems to think these last two weeks are just a bridge too far. My legs are holding on by a slender thread and I did those routines on the night strapped up more tightly than a Mummy at an athletics meeting. We got through it all, only to be called spastic by Mr. Tact himself, Tyrone. It’s the first time I’ve been in the firing line and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t affect me. Rationally one has to accept that it’s just a tv show and one shouldn’t take those comments personally, but the reality is that it’s been a tough 15 or so weeks, putting your private life (and personal relationships) on hold so that you can spend all your time sweating it out on the dance floor and then go out on national television dressed like a loon and make yourself completely vulnerable so that some guy with a ponytail can call you a spaz. Nice.
However, after I’d cried myself a river, I built a bridge and got over it. It did help a little bit telling Tyrone in the break that I thought his ponytail was cutting off the circulation to his brain. I hope he can take a joke, otherwise who knows what he’s going to call me this week. All the bitterness and sensitivity aside, I actually really dig Tyrone, I like his brutal honesty and his whole tough nut demeanor. It makes for great tv and most of the time his comments are constructive and they do give you something to work on going forward. I think the judges also have a tough job and it can’t be easy telling it how you see it and then half the country wants to moer you because of it.
I have managed to decipher the ‘spastic’ comment with the help of some interpreters and am working hard in the week ahead on posture and core strength. Basically what Tyrone is looking for is to dance more from my centre and through the floor and not so much through the outer extremities – no flapping about like a spaz. So that’s where we are at now – surging ahead with the Paso and the Tango and trying hard not to let the debilitating gastro stomach cramp vibes that had me lying in the foetal postion moaning like a depressed drunk last night get in the way of a triumphant return to the –floor.
Sorry this missive from strictly land is so short but time is at a premium and latin shoes wait for no man. Thanks for the support.
v- waltz
We are down to the business end of the competition now and the pressure builds with each passing day.
Last weeks episode was probably the most nerve wracking so far for myself (except maybe for the very first show) as the difference in quality between the couples remaining is minimal and chances of going to a dance off rise dramatically each time we lose a couple.
Also, in my humble opinion, there was very little between everyone’s Viennese Waltz’s on the day and it certainly felt like the playing fields had been leveled somewhat. To add to my anxiety, myself and Mary could hardly make it through a full version of our choreography in rehearsals whilst every other couple seemed to just glide through their dance. The Viennese Waltz is a peculiar old bird, the steps themselves are relatively simple with only a couple of variations, but the endless oscillation in multiples of seven as you circle the dance floor, leading with the right foot (the regular) and then with the left (the reverse) as you swivel in the opposite direction with a couple of pivots thrown in for good measure when you’re back into the regular cycle and then end it all off with a contra check after a particularly dizzying bout of flackeroles (sic?) , is enough to send you into vomiting spree to rival the worst of my varsity daze. Basically , it’s pretty disorientating and keeping count is vital to getting through the thing. Oh and then there’s the whole top line thing – keeping your shoulders down, your elbows up and your head to the left as the burn digs deep into your right shoulder/neck area. Needless to say, Mary and I were mentally preparing ourselves for a dance off throughout the never ending ordeal that is a Thursday at the Carlton centre.
However, when it came to the crunch we squashed our butterflies dead and got on with the job at hand – coming out with a very respectable 29 points and a second position overall on the night. Sweet relief.
Sadly, it was the end of the road for the man himself Gugu ‘Blogzilla Zorro’ Zulu, who quite frankly seemed a little relieved that it was all over. I’m sure the rest of you bloggers will miss his blog as much as I will. Taurus, if you’re out there man, drop us a line, tell us how you’re doing – give us one last run down of the night as you saw it – please, we miss you already.
I was lucky enough to run into Gugz at the Bond premiere in Sandton and he looked totally exhausted. It was a scary reminder of the kind of toll this constant dancing is taking on us guys. We kind of soldier on in denial cos we have to but I can imagine that when it’s all over for me as well I am going to crash and burn in spectacular fashion.
The week ahead sees a real step up in terms of intensity as we now tackle two dances per show. For us it’s the Cha Cha and the Rhumba and Mary and I are planning to step up to the plate and deliver on all fronts. Mary had a bit of a scare after the tribute to Miriam Makeba as she pulled a muscle after doing one of her crazy maneuvers – I had to carry her to the physio backstage who plied her with painkillers and cream that was supposed to help but burnt like hell in the process. Luckily she is back on the horse and going strong. I’m sure she would have carried on, even if she had had to amputate the leg. She probably would have come in with the offending limb in hand and beat me with it.
Alright, time to go, thanks once again for the support y’all. Keep on keeping it on.
Last weeks episode was probably the most nerve wracking so far for myself (except maybe for the very first show) as the difference in quality between the couples remaining is minimal and chances of going to a dance off rise dramatically each time we lose a couple.
Also, in my humble opinion, there was very little between everyone’s Viennese Waltz’s on the day and it certainly felt like the playing fields had been leveled somewhat. To add to my anxiety, myself and Mary could hardly make it through a full version of our choreography in rehearsals whilst every other couple seemed to just glide through their dance. The Viennese Waltz is a peculiar old bird, the steps themselves are relatively simple with only a couple of variations, but the endless oscillation in multiples of seven as you circle the dance floor, leading with the right foot (the regular) and then with the left (the reverse) as you swivel in the opposite direction with a couple of pivots thrown in for good measure when you’re back into the regular cycle and then end it all off with a contra check after a particularly dizzying bout of flackeroles (sic?) , is enough to send you into vomiting spree to rival the worst of my varsity daze. Basically , it’s pretty disorientating and keeping count is vital to getting through the thing. Oh and then there’s the whole top line thing – keeping your shoulders down, your elbows up and your head to the left as the burn digs deep into your right shoulder/neck area. Needless to say, Mary and I were mentally preparing ourselves for a dance off throughout the never ending ordeal that is a Thursday at the Carlton centre.
However, when it came to the crunch we squashed our butterflies dead and got on with the job at hand – coming out with a very respectable 29 points and a second position overall on the night. Sweet relief.
Sadly, it was the end of the road for the man himself Gugu ‘Blogzilla Zorro’ Zulu, who quite frankly seemed a little relieved that it was all over. I’m sure the rest of you bloggers will miss his blog as much as I will. Taurus, if you’re out there man, drop us a line, tell us how you’re doing – give us one last run down of the night as you saw it – please, we miss you already.
I was lucky enough to run into Gugz at the Bond premiere in Sandton and he looked totally exhausted. It was a scary reminder of the kind of toll this constant dancing is taking on us guys. We kind of soldier on in denial cos we have to but I can imagine that when it’s all over for me as well I am going to crash and burn in spectacular fashion.
The week ahead sees a real step up in terms of intensity as we now tackle two dances per show. For us it’s the Cha Cha and the Rhumba and Mary and I are planning to step up to the plate and deliver on all fronts. Mary had a bit of a scare after the tribute to Miriam Makeba as she pulled a muscle after doing one of her crazy maneuvers – I had to carry her to the physio backstage who plied her with painkillers and cream that was supposed to help but burnt like hell in the process. Luckily she is back on the horse and going strong. I’m sure she would have carried on, even if she had had to amputate the leg. She probably would have come in with the offending limb in hand and beat me with it.
Alright, time to go, thanks once again for the support y’all. Keep on keeping it on.
samba
Our Samba comeback was a success, but as is the nature with this unrelenting and unforgiving competition, there is no time to rest on one’s laurels. Oh no, in fact after Thursday night’s shock elimination of the majestic Hlubi and the phenomenal Khutso, itas straight into training on Friday for a full day of group gumboot dancing. Ja, you heard me, Gumboot dancing.
We have spent the weekend trying to perfect a complicated percussive rubiks cube of a gumboot routine in a cloud of sweaty exhaustion. The task was particularly daunting for the whiteys as there is nothing more embarrassing to watch than white people doing gumboot dancing badly. Although, after the weekends mayhem, I think I may be blacker than Gugu. We all seem to have got the knack of it by now though and it should be a jol come Thursday night.
The fatigue and exhaustion really has set in big time. At the moment it’s just pure will power that’s getting me through. I fall asleep wherever I am; waiting for the robot to turn green, sitting on the couch, even on the loo. I am a walking zombie. The only person who doesn’t seem to be affected is Cindy Nel, who seems to be getting more energetic every day and is throwing herself at everything with such zeal that one wonders if she is human at all. Expect big things from her in the coming weeks as her strength of character is really starting to shine through.
Mary and I are obviously stoked with our Samba, and our plan to get back o the winners podium was rewarded by a massive 4 point lead over the rest of the field. However, it must be said that I was deeply shocked by the fact that Hlubi and Tessa ended up in the dance off. In my opinion both of these ladies have been star performers throughout And I feel that the show has lost a great asset in Hlubi. Scariest of all, is that they both scored very highly on the night and yet somehow still ended up in the bottom two. The mind boggles and it seems that there are no end to the surprises in this particular lucky packet.
For my own part, all I can say is that I am glad that I am still in the running and I don’t want to be going anywhere soon. I feel like I still have much to offer out on that dance floor and am particularly looking forward to the drama of the Paso Doble and the Tango. So please, keep voting, keep us in the competition and we will do our best to keep you entertained.
We have spent the weekend trying to perfect a complicated percussive rubiks cube of a gumboot routine in a cloud of sweaty exhaustion. The task was particularly daunting for the whiteys as there is nothing more embarrassing to watch than white people doing gumboot dancing badly. Although, after the weekends mayhem, I think I may be blacker than Gugu. We all seem to have got the knack of it by now though and it should be a jol come Thursday night.
The fatigue and exhaustion really has set in big time. At the moment it’s just pure will power that’s getting me through. I fall asleep wherever I am; waiting for the robot to turn green, sitting on the couch, even on the loo. I am a walking zombie. The only person who doesn’t seem to be affected is Cindy Nel, who seems to be getting more energetic every day and is throwing herself at everything with such zeal that one wonders if she is human at all. Expect big things from her in the coming weeks as her strength of character is really starting to shine through.
Mary and I are obviously stoked with our Samba, and our plan to get back o the winners podium was rewarded by a massive 4 point lead over the rest of the field. However, it must be said that I was deeply shocked by the fact that Hlubi and Tessa ended up in the dance off. In my opinion both of these ladies have been star performers throughout And I feel that the show has lost a great asset in Hlubi. Scariest of all, is that they both scored very highly on the night and yet somehow still ended up in the bottom two. The mind boggles and it seems that there are no end to the surprises in this particular lucky packet.
For my own part, all I can say is that I am glad that I am still in the running and I don’t want to be going anywhere soon. I feel like I still have much to offer out on that dance floor and am particularly looking forward to the drama of the Paso Doble and the Tango. So please, keep voting, keep us in the competition and we will do our best to keep you entertained.
Friday, October 31, 2008
hectic
Last night was a nerve-wracker to say the least. Really felt like I had a better grasp on the foxtrot than what we puked out onto the dance floor last night. Had a real sense of flow in rehearsals and the timing wasn’t an issue at all. Just goes to show that it’s a very different beast when the cameras are rolling and the whole tv nation is watching. Think my nerves got the better of me and I rushed it. Mary was hissing at me “Slow Down” through a clenched smile and my heart was racing a mile a minute.
I’ll be honest it sucks not being at the top of the leader board anymore, but it’s a great motivation going forward. I really want to klap that Salsa silly now, even those painful pointy latin shoes wont put me off.
I’m an emotional guy at the best of times and this elimination bullcrap is really nailing me. I’ve developed a real soft spot for everyone involved in this competition and I know how hard we are all working on this thing, so when one of us falls by the wayside it really feels super kak. I have the greatest respect for Adil (his turnaround in attitude from episode 1 until now has been nothing short of phenomenal and a true indication of the guys character) and I was really sad to see him and his lovely partner Robyn biting the dust last night. Having said that, I do think Blogzilla (Gugu) pulled out all the stops. His performance was passionate and gritty and in the dance off you could see that this was a guy who rose to the occasion and was not going to go out without a fight. Mind you , he and Sarah are becoming old hands at this dance-off thing. Balls of steel I tell you. Balls of Steel. Both of them.
Mary was gutted with our performance, and I think she has a week of Salsa boot-camp hell planned in retribution for our shortcomings. I am ready and willing. My feet on the other hand seem to be going on some sort of strike. They wake me up each morning throbbing and that walk to the loo for the good old early morning constitutional is a hobble of pythonesque funny walk proportions. Still, I remain devoted to the cause and smell a Mary and Rob comeback on the air like one of Garths farts during a group rehearsal.
Well done to Cindy and Hlubi for showing the judges what-what with their stunning performances.
Also, what can one say about Grant and Tessa, except maybe to echo what the judges have already said; they are the couple to beat, and the standard that they are setting is making for a thrilling competition.
Bring it on.
I’ll be honest it sucks not being at the top of the leader board anymore, but it’s a great motivation going forward. I really want to klap that Salsa silly now, even those painful pointy latin shoes wont put me off.
I’m an emotional guy at the best of times and this elimination bullcrap is really nailing me. I’ve developed a real soft spot for everyone involved in this competition and I know how hard we are all working on this thing, so when one of us falls by the wayside it really feels super kak. I have the greatest respect for Adil (his turnaround in attitude from episode 1 until now has been nothing short of phenomenal and a true indication of the guys character) and I was really sad to see him and his lovely partner Robyn biting the dust last night. Having said that, I do think Blogzilla (Gugu) pulled out all the stops. His performance was passionate and gritty and in the dance off you could see that this was a guy who rose to the occasion and was not going to go out without a fight. Mind you , he and Sarah are becoming old hands at this dance-off thing. Balls of steel I tell you. Balls of Steel. Both of them.
Mary was gutted with our performance, and I think she has a week of Salsa boot-camp hell planned in retribution for our shortcomings. I am ready and willing. My feet on the other hand seem to be going on some sort of strike. They wake me up each morning throbbing and that walk to the loo for the good old early morning constitutional is a hobble of pythonesque funny walk proportions. Still, I remain devoted to the cause and smell a Mary and Rob comeback on the air like one of Garths farts during a group rehearsal.
Well done to Cindy and Hlubi for showing the judges what-what with their stunning performances.
Also, what can one say about Grant and Tessa, except maybe to echo what the judges have already said; they are the couple to beat, and the standard that they are setting is making for a thrilling competition.
Bring it on.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
