‘Mum, the way you were dancing last night, people would think you were on something,’ Rachel chuntered, the morning after a wedding the night before.
‘I’ll take that as a compliment then, eh?’ I laughed.
Both my daughters are in their twenties and obviously think that ‘Mother’ should be towing the line by now and dancing in a sedate and lady-like way, rather than ‘giving it rock all’ and dancing like a maniac with anyone who dares to ask her – be it a ‘hip, hop and happening’ septuagenarian or a ‘devil may care’ twenty-five-year-old.
When the latter had finally stopped throwing me backwards and forwards and twirling me this way and that with a grin on his face, obviously testing my mettle, I made my way to the bar for a glass of water. Hydration was definitely the name of the game.
Half an hour later, I realised that I’d mislaid my watch – obviously a casualty of the mad dancing mayhem! So I dived in amongst the throng of faked-tan legs and there it was, gleaming back at me. Oh, what a night!
Dancing, it has to be said, is good for the soul. It allows you to swing your body to and fro with gay abandon and just let rip. All in all, it’s a great exercise in just letting go and letting your body ‘do its thing’.
I remember, years ago, the day after a New Year’s Eve party, a guy (who in his heyday had run marathons), having seen me dance from 11pm ‘til 4am, asked me how many times I worked out in a week.
‘Err, none,’ I’d laughed.
You see, you don’t have to be fit to dance, you just have to have a passion for it. It’s that weird conundrum of being on the dance floor, deciding you’re definitely going to get off at the end of this dance to socialise, mix with people and the like, and then ‘Come on Eileen’ reverberates around the room, and that’s it…you’re off again! And so it goes on, for hours and hours.
I love it! Absolutely love it! I’m always in the mood for dancing!