January - Simply Ballroom

SUNDAY, 25TH JANUARY 09

All aboard & destination dance school.

I am sat on a bus in the rain, at a time of day that saner mortals are still experiencing the pleasures of a double tog duvet & the Archers’ omnibus.

I have the sole company of my hangover. We don’t look our prettiest. We don’t feel our prettiest. In fact I feel sick. I’m not sure if this is nerves or the hangover grumbling.

I arrive amid a th(r)ong of lycra-clad umpa-lumpas, pushing to enrol on the dance class they have set their teeny Sunday hearts’ upon. They appear to have spent the morning trowelling on make up & blow-drying hair. I’ve let the side down & make my shabby way to the front of the line.

I fatalistically decide to take the very next dance class going. It’s simply ballroom. The receptionist is either confused by my decision making process or doesn’t see me as a ballroom dancer. I don’t see me as a ballroom dancer either.

Me & my partnering hangover secretly hope for a sedate waltz. We make our way to the dance studio, via a “warm up / chill down zone” where more lilliputs bend their limbs into unheard of positions. They are clearly showing off. I am too embarrassed to stretch (I regret this decision on Monday) & take my place at the back of the class like the jolly green giant.

Two miniature Croatian ballroom champions take the class. They wouldn’t look out of place singing for their country in the Eurovision song contest. I suspect they’ve cheated on their January tans. I’m not sure that their dance routine smiles are genuine either. But they propel a jive around the room like an orange pocket dynamo & it’s pretty impressive.

For a split second I catch myself marvelling at their moves…until, that is, it’s my turn to have a go & my marvelling is replaced by an instant flood of disappointment.

We move onto a tango.

Now I know this is a tricky dance to get to grips with & it’s made somewhat trickier without a partner to grip. There are a dutiful handful of “anything for a quiet life” boyfriends attending. Their girlfriends’ look like proud dog trainers. I’m intrigued to know who will lead.

But the majority of single girls like myself are forced to pair up together. The taller ones lead. I’ve been tall forever. Suddenly I have childhood flashbacks of having to play Joseph in the school nativity play.

Tall girls are always made to lead.

I like to think I’m no exception.