I love dance because its great fun, keeps you fit and boosts your confidence. I love it when people tell me how much they are inspired by seeing dance programmes on TV, and in fact new research shows that around half of those watching TV programmes like Strictly Come Dancing get so wrapped-up in the rhythm that they can't help but dance along in their living rooms.
The wedding took place on a country estate. The bride's family were rich and had hired what looked like a Norman stronghold. It was summer and we were gathered on the lawn. Dinner and afternoon drinks were followed by aimless socialising. I asked lots of people what they did, and talked about how lovely the bride looked.
The day after the ball, I felt fine. I did not harbour the dread that follows a night of self-abasement. Still, the picture of my pasty visage was a giveaway. I had shamed myself. The newsletter was quarterly so I would have to endure its presence in the canteen for some time. I could destroy every copy but they would only be replenished by a keen intern.
I attend a weekly class at our local dancing school. The one with all the mummies in it trying to relive their youths and thinking they are cool. (We aren't, we know that, but we still have a lot of fun!) Anyway, this week the teacher was talking about her pet pugs and how if they were people they would make terrible dancers.