Up all night: I'm pert and oh so sassy

Standing in a row of topless women, I'm reminded of the film Showgirls where the producer checks out the women and gets a handful of ice to make them look cold where it counts.

Thankfully they have spared us that delight here. I'm at Mahiki, for an audition to be a Crazy Horse girl.

The Crazy Horse is the world's most sophisticated topless dance spectacular, held in Paris. The girls are bathed in patterned, coloured lights and don't wear much else. I once saw Dita Von Teese guest-star there and I was hypnotised.

Today they are looking for girls to do a potential London tour next year.

I'm not hugely hopeful about being picked as I'm not nearly as bendy as the Crazy Horse girls, whose legs are like hingeless scissors, and my classical training is a little rusty.

But my measurements are right, at least. It's all very specific. The girls have to look identical - breasts and all.

About 30 of us stand in the row, eyeing each other up with sideways glances. Everyone else is in leggings or dance shorts, but Annette and I didn't know what to wear on our bottom halves, so we're conspicuous in our sparkly burlesque knickers.

A couple of real Crazy Horse goddesses have come from Paris to talk to us - to explain the charisma and charm they are looking for.

The music we have to improvise to is a classic striptease tune, I Am a Good Girl. I know it well.

The first girl to audition takes the floor and demonstrates chaînés across the room - spinning quickly, with superfast footwork, one hand under her chin, the other on her hip and a saucy grin.

She's good. She kicks her leg up to her ear and holds it for four counts. There's nervous applause at the end. I gulp.

The next girl has been put off. Looking unsure of herself, she tries to copy the first girl, without success.

Realising I need something to help me stand out, so to speak, I suddenly think that ice idea might not be so bad - so I dash to the bar and demand a glassful.