I remember how, that first night, I laid awake under the covers of my sleeping bag, on the marvellous wooden floor of that dance studio in a tender, delicious ecstasy of sensation, my burning cheek pressed against the familiar faded cotton of the pillow I’d brought with me and how the waves of my breath met the waves of the cool autumn air that drifted in through the open window, carrying me through the night, away from the small, enclosed, narrow corridors of understanding
into the unpredictable situation I found myself lying on this marvellous wooden floor, beside twenty quietly breathing bodies, in the south London suburb of Elephant & Castle, in a dance studio.