Friday, 10 March 2017


We moved on to a new dance on Wednesday night at Swing Club.  I spent a most satisfying two minutes winding the husband up, saying that we could be doing any kind of dance this week, as they didn't just do swing dancing.  I mentioned that I thought we were doing the Can-Can which caused a small smile to come to his face.  Probably thinking about those frilly drawers they wore.  Anyway, he was disappointed when it was announced that for the next four weeks we would be learning the Lindy Hop, his lower lip sticking out just a little too far for my liking.

This was the best news ever, as this was what I had always hoped to learn.  It was a different beat, and so much easier than the Charleston steps which we had been covering for the last four weeks.  And half way through the lesson, I did a twirl.  Not an Anthea Redfern twirl (showing my age again), but a fast, on the spot Lindy one.  And I didn't fall over.  Nor did I trip over my own feet, or knock my partner's front teeth out.  I was thrilled skinny.  Of course, wearing the proper shoes helps, oh, and dancing with some bloke who had a vice like grip on my right hand shoulder blade.

Last night Mrs S and I went for our usual Thursday night swim.  The pool was quieter which was good, and this also meant that the chance of 'swimming against the tide' when following the Front Crawl Splasher was also eliminated as she had already swum and gone.  Pottering up and down at the speed of an asthmatic snail, I realised around length fourteen that I might just possibly have overdone it this week on the exercise front.  My arms felt like a couple of strands of soggy spaghetti, and my legs like two lead weights.  I am blaming the two hours of dancing the night before, which had been preceded by a six mile walk with Mrs P and Neville the Rottweiler.  I shall start next week's exercise regime with 'Woman, know your limits' and take things a little easier I think.

So Mrs S and I threw caution to the wind on a school night and headed off to the cinema after our swim, to watch The Viceroy's House.  I had a major dilemma with this, as it raised the question of what the hell to do with my hair after forty five minutes in a mild bleach solution (ie the pool).  Finally deciding on a shampoo, and then a leave in conditioning treatment, we headed off to the cinema and settled down in our seats to watch the film.  It was brilliant, but what impressed me most of all is that neither of us fell asleep after our grueling swim.

When I got back in, the husband was still up, watching something manly on the television involving fast cars and bad language.  Looking at me as I came through the door, he took one look at my hair, and said, 'You've not been out in public looking like that have you?'

Don't you just love them....

Stupidly, I had a large coffee to thank for keeping me awake.  Mind you, as I said to the guy behind the counter as he served the coffee, 'I shall be cursing you at 3.00am when I am still awake looking like a rabbit in the headlights'.

And so it came to pass...

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