On tour, all sorts of wild things happen. Our weekend started with me losing my knickers over lunch at a bistro in a sports bet. My team lost, and I had to pay a forfeit to Caroline.

For a laugh, it was suggested I hand over my knickers, expecting me to object. I didn't say a word, or slink off to the ladies to remove them, I just reached under the table pulled them down my legs and put them neatly on the table. I looked Caroline in the eye and gave a saucy wink.

She blushed, stared at my black French silk knickers on the table, her mouth open, gulped in surprise and swept them into her pocket. That was only the start of the saucy things that took place that weekend. Let me properly set the scene.

It was September 2016, and six of us decided to go for a long weekend to Galway. We had checked in to our hotel and went for a very good lunch.

On our way there, we found an old school sweet shop that sold me a big bag of dark chocolate covered coffee beans. Around four o'clock, we decided we would like a drink or two and found this quiet little pub on a back street.

Five college-age boys sat clustered in a corner on our left, pints of cider on their table. They laughed over something on their phones. Three old men were at a table by the fire to our right, pints of Guinness and playing a card game. We took a corner booth on the right and debated what we were to drink.

I felt peckish so munched handfuls of the coffee beans at this point; they made me feel giggly and giddy. The barmaid behind the bar was in her mid-twenties, auburn hair, cute, and bored.

The drinks order went in, and a double shot of seven-year-old rum placed in front of me, just what I needed to loosen up. We talked about our favourite track to sing along to, and I mentioned Stevie Nicks' Rooms on Fire as a special favourite of mine.

Which led to a rather bad attempt to sing it, with half of us in a different key and tempo to the others. After the third round of drinks, I went off to find the ladies room, and on my way back discovered a jukebox, still powered up, and that it had Stevie Nicks on the playlist.

It must have been fate. I popped in a coin, cued up the track and bounced my way back to the bar. The girls whooped when they saw me, my mischievous face told them I had something on my mind. The track started and I swung my hips from side to side with the beat of the music.

My arms swept out and up like the wings of a swan, my arms gracefully curved upwards, and my fingers pointed to the ceiling. I turned to face the room, my hands moved down to my hips and my fingers flowed up my sides, like a lover's caress. I crossed them swiftly over my chest, gave myself a brief but firm hug.

My knees bent and I dropped low before I created a slow curved wave as I rose that flowed from my boots through my straightened knees. My hands gripped the hem of the skirt swished it high. I gave a brief flash of my bare ass, and up through my arched back.

I high kicked my way down the room, gave myself a little room from the bar, before I turned, and ran at it. I leapt into the air; one boot landed on the seat of a stool launched me onto the bar top. I turned to face the room again, pumped my hands in the air as the excitement grew.

I gripped the hem of the skirt in both hands, kicked my way down the length of the bar, swished the skirt wildly and gave those on one side of the room a good view of my quite beautiful secret garden.

My red nails gleamed as they slowly drew upwards from my ankles, brief little flashes of colour on my thighs, reached my hips, and floated in the air.

I threw my head back; my hair sailed over my shoulder and rolled my hips seductively. I clapped my hands together to get the room to follow my lead, then kicked my way down the bar again, and gave the other side of the room a good look of what was under my skirt.

I ran my fingers through my hair like a lover's caress and give a slutty wanton groan that made a few peoples' drinks tinkle in surprised excitement. The college boys whistled and stomped their feet in encouragement. The old men were baffled why a nice girl danced about like that. My witch sisters clapped their hands and cheered.

I rocked my hips from side to side, tilted my hips forwards, gripped the hem of the skirt and pulled it upwards, mooned the audience for a moment and gave a flirtatious look in the mirror behind the bar to the crowd. I playfully spanked my ass, the contact made my cheeks wobble seductively.

At the slow section, I turned around, ran my fingers up my body, gave my tits a jiggle, gave the room a sultry look, and pointed my fingers into the crowd as I swept them across the room. I stomped down the bar, pointing at people as I went; I let them know I knew all about magic.

I teased them that maybe I might show them some if they caught my eye. I punched the air as I bounced back up the bar, revelled in my power as a wild wanton woman. The skirt skipped as I bounced, gave flashes of fishnet covered knees and thighs.

As the song started to wind down, I gave the crowd a saucy look and turned to face the barmaid. She gave me a flirtatious wink and bit her lower lip.

I sank to my knees on the bar top, gently cupped her face in my gloved hands, and kissed her. Softly at first, then when she pressed herself against me, I half lifted her over the bar and kissed her hard.

I slipped my tongue into her mouth and kissed her until she squeaked. When we broke the kiss, she pulled herself back off the bar onto her feet. Her lipstick smeared and she had a dazed look in her eyes.

The only sound I heard was my witch sisters as they chanted my name and applauded. I slid off the bar and strutted back to join them.

That is why chocolate-covered coffee beans, shots of rum and Stevie Nicks are a powerful, some say magical combination.