I write this with a quivering lower lip and a slightly less shaky right leg than I had 48 hours ago. Now voted out of Strictly Come Dancing, my leg has stopped shaking because I don't have to dance again. My lip has started quivering because I don't have to dance again... It will be a little while before I feel completely normal again. Normal is ligaments not swollen and heart not racing every time I see my diary marked for Saturday. Normal is where most of us ought to be most of the time. But returning to the world is hard. Because Strictly is another planet.
My brother got the talent. The only thing I was ever really good at was the high jump. But I truly, madly, deeply want to learn to dance. Desperately! Because I feel that would be a way of getting profoundly into the music, of letting it hold me. And also because every time I move my body, people start calling ambulances.
The suffering in Gaza continues unabated. The strip is blockaded from land, sea and air and bombed from land, sea and air. The death toll has climbed past 550, including at least 100 Palestinian children. Yet, still, silver-tongued Israeli officials continue to take to the airwaves to defend the indefensible.