As a small child, I was adamant that I would only ever wear skirts and dresses. Trousers didn’t really feature high on the agenda. I said it was because I was a girl, and girls wear skirts (my gender stereotyping logic makes me wince retrospectively!). It wasn’t just that, though. Really, it was because I loved dancing and twirling and watching my skirts flare out as I spun. Over the years, I’ve had many skirts and dresses that swirled out when I danced, and a big proportion of those were chosen precisely for their ability to swoosh. The fluffy 1950s petticoats are like manna for me!
Now, I say dance… I’ve never been able to perform any of the proper dances aside from the most basic of salsa steps; my dancing can best be described as grandad dancing. I’m not cool, I’m not co-ordinated, but I love the old-fashioned knees-up style of dance favoured by Pan’s People. I should note that I can only dance to cheesy music as well: put me in one of those fashionable clubs which plays drum & bass, or *shudder* trance (IT ALL SOUNDS THE SAME) and you will never see a bigger, flappier fish feel further out of water. Put me somewhere that plays music cheesier than cheese you would find in a French village market, and I’m your girl! As my good chum Miranda Hart says, I am basically a gay man trapped in a woman’s body when it comes to music taste.
As you get older, the opportunities to dance your little frilly socks off get fewer and further between. No more the birthday parties with musical statues, no more the endless university nights out. All life really affords you as you get older is weddings (hurrah for weddings!) and the go-for-it-crazy-horses style rock out around the kitchen when Hall & Oates comes on the radio.
As such, when you’re handed the chance to visit Strawberry Moons in London for your best friend’s hen party, you light up like a Christmas tree and seize the moment with both hands. Oooooh Strawberry Moons is heaven on earth (thank you, Belinda Carlisle): light-up dance floor, cheesy music, and even themed character dancers. It was spectacular! I was up there with friends for six whole hours, and I felt floatingly happy! Little-girl happy: the pure, innocent kind, the joy-of-life kind. You are never too old to dance, and you should never, ever care what anyone thinks of your dancing. If your signature move is the Big Fish/Little Fish/Cardboard Box, you perform it with merry abandon!
So, at your next available chance, you shimmy right onto that dance floor, hold fort for six hours, and you jolly well dance like no-one’s watching.
PS. What makes dancing even better is if you can co-ordinate your moves with other(s). Hence, numbers like the Macarena and Saturday Night are favourites! However, I challenge you to learn this routine so you can perform it to adoring crowds at the next dancing occasion. Thank you to Kate Betty Smith for introducing this wonder to me!
proverbial pearls of wisdom 