Having spotted an ad for fire dancing classes a couple of years ago and, intrigued, I went along. At the grand old age of 22 it was time to face my fear of fire; no longer would it dictate whether romantic nights in featured candles.
I instantly liked Szymon, a Polishman with dreadlocks, endless patience and a passion for risking his life. My brain just didn’t GET one of the most basic moves, a 3-beat weave, and he didn’t judge me for taking four months to learn.
You may have spotted Bring the Fire Project at Light Night, Brouhaha festival (minus the fire) or gone along to the Liverpool Fire Arts Festival.
These classes were my introduction to the alternative world of Liverpool, where socialising didn’t just mean Ring of Fire in a student flat. I made friends and acquaintances, who hung out in different places and did different things, and I discovered an alternative Liverpool which helped me manage that awkward transition from full-time student to young professional.
I’m still dead scared of fire – lighters have no place in my life – but I conquered my fear of big flaming balls of paraffin swinging towards my face, and new people.
And in case you’re worried, it’s really quite hard to hurt yourself. I’m clumsy with zero coordination and still have never been burnt – so give it a go! (with supervision, of course).