A few days ago, I went dancing and danced as though I was back in 1977 remembering John Travolta in ‘Saturday Night Fever!’
The Old Days
Back then, I would have been around 21, almost in my prime, with moves that Mr Travolta would have been proud of. I’ve always enjoyed dancing, I don’t mean the ballroom stuff, more the ‘anything’ goes disco dancing. When I was younger, most Saturday nights were spent in the Locarno Ballroom up in Birmingham. It was a great way of getting rid of any unspent energy that was so present after a week of working. All that adolescent testosterone stuff that so many times would turn ugly with tribal gangs kicking off in the middle of ‘the Twist.’ Not for this kid.
Fast forward a couple of millenniums and disco dancing isn’t the top of my priorities on a Saturday night. It’s more likely to be supping a couple of mugs of tea in front of the fire with some programme on T.V. about the merits of being a Brussells sprout grower in East Anglia. Of course, I’ll be nodding off about 9:00 pm being woken by half a mug of cold tea dribbling all over my lap.
I’m digressing, so back to the dancing. Our youngest daughter got married a couple of weeks ago and it gave me the chance to dust down these old legs and have a bash. To be honest, I didn’t think it was too bad. There was no serious dancing like Northern Soul and I was on best behaviour not to make a fool of myself or anyone else with some deft Mick Jagger moves. Next morning, no one moaned or suggested that I hadn’t behaved myself on the dance floor. Although that could be because a lot of the others had drunk rather too much alcohol which affected their memory.
So it was, we had our local Christmas Party in the village hall on Saturday. There was a live band, playing my favourite dancing tunes. Very soon, I was being invited onto the dance floor to join in with the festive fun. Fun it was too, great fun and I seemed to be dancing for most of the evening. Sometimes alone, sometimes with others and sometimes with my wife. I thoroughly enjoyed every second and every shake of the legs. There was a problem though. This wasn’t 1977, it’s 2019 a forty-two-year difference!
I went home happy, went to bed happy and woke up………. like I had been covered in concrete. My oh my, did I hurt. It wasn’t in just one place either. Legs, shoulders, lower back, neck, thighs and many other places. I felt as though I had been run over by one of those huge tractor things, it was that painful. It has taken a few days too, to get over the pain. I might still be John Travolta in my head, but my body is now more like Father Christmas. Great fun at the time, but next time I’ll be doing the one foot out and back and the same with the other foot.
If you would like to know more about disco dancing the link is here.