So I made a resolution way back at the beginning of this blog to aim for a proper night out dancing. And managed to avoid it. You know the kind of chatter: oh, I need to be ready, there needs to be preparation and planning and a whole big thing before I could possibly...
Tedious.
Yesterday I took part in a really great gig and left early, having performed already and supported my friends, in order to enjoy more energy and a reasonably early finish to the day after a fair amount of low sleep levels.
And yet. I found myself full of a certain confidence and up-ness renowned among performers and people who hang around performers. Basically: I wanted this party in my bloodstream to keep going, so texted a couple of people to ask if they wanted to go out dancing. One said yes, and so we found ourselves on the sweaty, sticky, unsprung floor of the Q Club in Cambridge (and later watching exquisite performance art at The Junction, but that's a different story) a little after midnight.
When other people say "I dance like me dad" they probably mean something different to what I mean. My parents used to talk about how they were renowned for tearing up dancefloors in their youth. Even allowing for nostalgia's magnifying glass, I've seen my dad dancing at weddings, and he and my mother must have ben terrifying in their prime.
"No wonder you buggered your knees," said my dancing partner, "you dance like a maniac."
This was the first time since putting down the stick that I'd danced properly and at length, and it was to a string of 90s hits, so my body was remembering when it didn't hurt, and when strangers used to come up to me in clubs and call me a legend. Only one person last night, a total stranger trading compliments, knew what was really happening: I was actually holding back, if anything...
I managed to dance for about 90% of our time there, so a good 90 minutes, at least (we set out late, what can I say?). I overheated, did my equivalent of sweating profusely, and nearly elbowed several people in the face, apparently. My hair became a fuzzball of unstoppable magnitude. And I felt fantastic.
Yes, my Particularly Borked Knee buckled and stabbed me towards the end. Yes, there is not a single muscle group in my body that doesn't ache vengefully right now. Yes, my neck and knees are making nasty noises, both literal and mental, but I regret NOTHING except, perhaps, waiting until now. I've had the best (if the latest) night's sleep in a long time.
So it turns out that I can still dance (I don't know if it's any good, but I know I enjoy it), have more aerobic stamina than I thought I did, and can hold my own at a club (they don't stink of smoke anymore - isn't that brilliant?!).
Oh, and I still know all the words to Parklife.
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