I found my first stage, at age three, at my Aunt Sybil’s wedding. There was a stage at the reception, and I climbed up to explore. I found a wig, pulled back the curtains, and started singing “Your Baby Has Gone Down The Plug-Hole.” The more they laughed, the more I performed. I’ve been doing it ever since.

Mom never forgave herself that she had given birth to me out of wedlock. She didn’t know that my father was already married. She always felt guilty and was ridiculed by some friends and relatives. Sometimes she tried to hide me. Despite that, she loved me so much – I never felt like I was missing another parent.

The Royal Ballet School was heaven. Life at home was tough. It was a culture shock to swap Hartlepool Tech for the royal hunting lodge of Richmond Park. And I loved every second of it.

I should learn to keep my mouth shut. I speak up when I’m being treated badly. My mother told me never to complain or get a second opinion, we’re lower working class. I don’t. To make up for all the times she felt she couldn’t, I fuss all the time.

I regret not having grown. I’m 7 inches too short to be in a ballet troupe and 8 inches too short to be in a West End dance company. Give up, Wayne, I’ve been told so many times. You’ll never make it. I considered taking hormones. Science hadn’t progressed far enough yet. Instead, I decided to spin twice as fast and jump twice as high as everyone else.

My greatness has proven a godsend. Because I wasn’t big enough to be in every production of the Royal Ballet, I had time to try other things in my spare time. I did three Shakespeare plays, a film with Sean Connery and choreographed for Mia Farrow and Bette Davis. My bigger colleagues didn’t have time.

I don’t cry when friends die. Not a tear at mom’s funeral. But the Olympics? They always make me cry. When Kelly Holmes won gold, you could hear my sobs halfway down the street.

Everyone knew I was gay before I came out in my forties. Just before homosexuality was legalized, a number of familiar faces came out. I couldn’t. It would have upset my mother. Once she was gone, it was a relief to be myself.

The darkness scares me. When I’m home alone at night and I come downstairs, I have to check every room for intruders before I go back to bed. I now give in to my paranoia, as stupid as it may be.

I pay the price Dancing day in and day out: torn ligaments, four screws in my shoulder, a torn rotator cuff, and a total hip replacement. Most ballet dancers do one or two reps a week; different shows use different muscles. I toured with my own show and performed day in and day out. Now I’m paying the price.

Freddie Mercury was a dear friend. He came to the ballet, then we talked over a long dinner. Sometimes we stayed at his house until the early hours. He played the piano. We watched videos of great sopranos. Freddie called me Miss Sleep. I miss him very much.

Before the meeting my (husband) José, I had given up on relationships. I was over 40 and had resigned myself to being alone forever. Then, over 30 years ago, he came along and made me the happiest person in the world.

I will never I accept that loved ones have left me. I leave their pictures hanging on the wall. And I still talk to them as if they were still here.

While dancing, I felt like no one could catch me. The bigger the stage, the better I got. I felt most comfortable in front of an audience – the audience made me last longer than I should have. I still dance like a real tap dancer today.

Awake in the Afternoon takes place from 19th to 25th August at the Pleasance Courtyard Cabaret Bar in Edinburgh. Pleasance.de