The Tarot of Pole Dancing

Every Tuesday night, a forty-eight-year-old council worker tells her husband she's at Pilates. She is not at Pilates.

The class is the door to a country she never knew existed: a world of stage names and grip chalk, of drag queens and burlesque cows, of accountants and HR managers who, one weekend a year, in a shabby hotel in Ormskirk, put on glitter, feathers and seven-inch heels and become magnificent.

But secret countries require passports, and hers is a lie that cannot hold: her husband is going to find out.

Told as thirteen tarot readings in which the cards are not cards but moves, The Tarot of Pole Dancing keeps asking the only question that matters: can you want something without apologising for the wanting?