It is funny how things change in life. The ebbs and flows; patterns and shapes within our relationships both work and play that create the mesh and mess we live in.
There was a phase in my life where I was confident enough and capable of wearing high heels and pelmets (skirts). I had the legs for it, or I believed I did, and I carried it off. In those days I went out to the pubs and clubs and I danced. I am not of the generation that danced in pairs. Mostly I danced alone in amongst a group of others usually women and we boogied the night away.
Even then the men did not dance. I checked the other day and learned that it is only a certain type of man that dances. Occasionally one did. I remember a “work do” when lovely Charlie (married, not to me, with two children) asked me to dance and we danced properly with spins and swirls, quick changes and some lifts. He was good and we had both drunk enough to enjoy and relax and not too much that we fell over.
Other occasions dancing was my sanctuary, when you are single in a group of couples that are at the smooching stage, being able to get up and dance is a good way to be there; to belong and not feel left out.
I danced a lot in Australia and New Zealand, Cusco and sometimes in Chile. Dancing in the antipodes was boozy, bouncy and brash. In Chile it was a much calmer affair often dances involved avoiding the clutches or advances of the local gentlemen. To them salsa was the way to a woman’s heart. I was more step on your toes than sexy salsa.
Working back in London post work shindigs were always a chance to shake a leg. One morning after the night before, I was told by one of my staff that I was a Latin American dancer whilst one of my colleagues was definitely a line dancer. I took my plaudits with aplomb.
Moving through life, the pubs are for dinner and the clubs are now no go. The times to tango are fewer. Actually they are quite rare. Last month I was invited to an anniversary celebration. A proper do in a village hall where family and friends brought a bottle and shared an evening of entertainment. As the night wore on the floor began to fill and feet started to tap. In no time at all I found my dance moves, was strutting my stuff, shimmying across the floor. I had a marvellous evening, what better way to celebrate a key life moment? It was brilliant and best of all I discovered:
– She can still dance;
– She can still jive; and
– She was having the time of her life
I am still a Dancing Queen!
If you know me and have seen me dance or even if you don’t. Click on the link use your imagination! ABBA – Dancing Queen