The flame of Fatima

It's official.  The spice-fragranced bog roll is on the shelves.  So Christmas is within striking distance.  This morning I heard on the radio that we have had the dryest November in 130 years - how about that?  It didn't feel very dry to me, but then I'm not a farmer (thank goodness).  I mean, we all have different perceptions of dryness.  I think that lack of rain is probably meant, to which I say yippee!  I hate rain.

Tomorrow is (I declare needlessly) December 1st and everyone is talking about how the year has flown by, etc, etc. Max the ginger cat may have just got us into our first neighbourhood dispute.  The neighbour - who shall remain nameless - apparently collared Hedda and said our pet is a disgrace, having done his business in the entrance hall (Max, I presume).  And why don't we keep our cat in at night.  Precisely for that reason, Mr Neighbour.  I should go over there and confront him in person, but I am too scared.  Anyway, I have enough on my plate.  In two days' time it is the annual party at the company where I work.  This in itself would be quite a pleasant prospect, but sadly there is a tradition that all the newbies have to perform some kind of turn, preferably a song, in front of the assembled mass.  I cannot divulge what it is we - me and five blokes - are planning.  Highly confidential, and you never know who might read this.  I just know I won't relax until it's over with.

If all that weren't enough to contend with, I have the prospect of tonight's bellydancing session to look forward to.  Deep within me must flicker the flame of Fatima, for there is something about this kind of dancing that I feel drawn to.  Liking something does not mean that you can automatically do it, however.  I look more like a Fiona than a Fatima as I try to contort myself into the twists and turns and shimmies.  Fiona from the Home Counties wearing a curtain round her waist.  Our teacher has ambitiously decided that we should put on a show next June, part of which will involve dancing round a fire, which is surely asking for trouble with all that whirling chiffon.  Loads of time till then though, isn't there.  Except we know it will fly by.