I’m rather ancient, I have a disease; So into my life I have to squeeze As many things as I can manage Before the time comes when I vanish. “At your age, in your condition” Are husband’s words. He’d make a prison Where I’d recline on my chaisse longue And langorously read, and yawn. “You must be joking”, says this lady. “I’m off to learn flamenco—maybe!” One dig, one stamp then four pasadas My poor old brain is so “cansada”. “Oh Jesus! Let me do it right, I’m sure I look an awful sight”. “Head up”, says Anna, “Just look proud Instead of looking meek and cowed”. I hold my head up, walk with “aire” - Ye Gods! I’m almost feeling fiery. A “Sevillana” I’ve learned to dance As to and fro we stamp and prance. Far more than that, I now have “aire” Flamenco next year? Where’s my diary! Mary Foyle, September 2003 cansada=tired aire=upright/proud