As told to me by my friend Helen:
When I was 7 I was in the Brownies. There was a big talent evening coming up, and my friend Bonnie and I were planning a dance routine to wow the crowd. We wanted to keep it a surprise for our parents, so we’d take turns – one day we’d shut ourselves in her bedroom and practice, the next day in mine. When the big night finally came, we were sure we had the best act. Mostly it was kids playing the recorder badly or doing crap magic tricks, and then we were on. Dressed in our best pyjamas, we put the tape in the cassette player, pressed play and laid down on the stage. Our dance routine was all about getting up in the morning, and the choreography revolved around a particular set of lyrics: the lines, “Get up get up get up get up, let’s make love tonight/ Wake up wake up wake up wake up, ’cause you do it right…” from Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye. [here, please imagine Helen demonstrating the choreography. It is, I can assure you, spectacular.]
I remember looking out at a sea of horror-struck faces. The woman in charge of the show came running out from the wings, frantically shouting “Thank you! Thank you very much!”, swatted the stop button on the stereo and hustled us offstage. I couldn’t believe it. Of all the terrible acts, we were the only ones who were cut off in mid-routine. I cried for weeks. It was years before I figured out what was wrong with that routine.