Juniors in general

I met him through friends. We spent three days kissing until I thought my lips would bleed. We'd sit there saying nothing imparticular but smiling far too much and when we did sneak a few minutes alone my heart felt like it would explode. Given that he was quite shy and blonde and everything I'm not basically, it all came as a bit of a surprise. He turned to go and I had to stop myself crying and asking him not to leave me now I've found him. That scene took place in 1993 and just last weekend. Some people think that you're never going to replace your first love and for years I really thought this was the case. I've now become that nervous seventeen year old ...  Read the complete review

Imagine dancing on the largest stage in the north of England. Then imagine performing the same solo a week later on a stage the size of a shoe box. Welcome to the world of dancing festivals. The word "festival" is a bit misleading here - it has positive, pleasant connotations when really in this usage it's referring to competitions that, at times, can be full of backstabbing, bitching and tears. They're the UK equivalent of American beauty pageants in a way. Little, and not so little girls, and sometimes boys prance around on a stage, wearing elaborate costumes and full stage make up in the hope of winning a few medals and trophies. Sounds fun, ...  Read the complete review

First Love. Hmmm. A long time ago now… It was 1986 when I met Patrick. He was at the next school I would be going to, a year above me. I was going there to study my A-levels for two years. Although I’d had boyfriends before, Patrick was special. He was tall, dark and handsome. He was sporty, well-liked and intelligent. He introduced me to new sorts of music, including Pink Floyd who are now one of my favourite groups. We were only together six months or so. He left me for someone in his year. It hurt. It still does, in a kind of faded, passive way. I still bear a ‘P’ scar on my left wrist, which I etched into ...  Read the complete review

The opening lines of Nancy A. Collins' short story "Thin Walls" read thus..."There are some personal milestones that have a way of cementing themselves to your gray matter. One of these is your very first apartment." What she doesn't say is what the others are. First love must be among them. The first time you do things always seems to have that additional, mystical quality about it, that often makes it stand out in the memory as something more special than it was. The event seems to end up being placed on a pedestal, only recalled occasionally, but always with great fondness. The same is also true of the negative. ...  Read the complete review

A young girl sits cross-legged in front of a television. Images of ballet dancers flash across the screen, she pauses for a moment and stands up to switch off the television set. As she presses the big black plastic button on the front of the wood effect box, an idea becomes set in stone. Perversely the images that raced across the screen did not inspire any inspiration for the art-form they depicted, but provoked a slightly strange response in this scruffy little four year old. They had made her realise what she did not want to do, and somehow what she did. She didn't want to dance - she wanted to act. At that age decisions seemed to be made in that ...  Read the complete review