Dance yourself dizzy...

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My feet are not happy...

On Saturday, we were invited to a dear friend's 70th birthday party, and there was a live band, a DJ and a steel band.  One quick drink, and I spent the next four hours and twenty two minutes strutting my stuff to hits from the 1960's.  The husband has the dancing prowess of a cat on a hot tin roof with an added tic which involves throwing his arms out at any conceivable angle, irrespective of who is close to hand, and I saw at least two of the bar staff take a short detour to avoid a head on with him.  But he was having a lovely time, so I didn't think it fair to rein him in.

During a two minute sit down with another bottle of water - it was so hot in the hall, and I was glowing (polite phrasing for 'sweating like a good'un) - the husband did his version of descriptive dance, that is, putting actions to the words.  The mother and I were doubled up at one of his moves, which involved waggling one hand on his head and another from his derriere.

'We loved your chicken dance', said the mother as he careered into us, while aiming for the chair.  'I haven't laughed so much in ages'.

'Chicken!' said the husband.  'Chicken?.....Chicken???'  That was my Running Bear'.

Well ladies (and the occasional gentleman), he sulked for at least forty seconds before launching himself into his mostly physical rendition of At the Hop (I think it's safe to say that most of us guessed this one correctly).

So lots of dancing for all of us - even Mrs L2B, who managed to cut a rug or two sporting a sling over her party frock.

Talking of interpretative dance, on Sunday, I took my lovely Italian friend, Mrs H, to Windsor to see Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake at the cinema.  She had never seen one of his ballets, but was suitably impressed with the befeathered male dancers.  Before all this though, there was shopping to be done.  My feet gave up about an hour into the shopping marathon, so there was a hurried purchase of some very ugly black trainers to go with my pretty skirt.  I'm sure that many of the people I walked past must have uttered those famous words of, 'Well, someone doesn't have a full length mirror in their house'.

Pilates again yesterday.  There's only one good thing about this.

My stomach muscles are destroyed.

But it does take my mind off the fact that my feet are still hurling abuse at each other...



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