And what better music to wobble to than the B-52s, Dragon, Duran Duran and The Dudes. The eighties were something else and now far enough away to be almost trendy although those trojan-like shoulder pads will probably never re-reach the pedestal of cool. Mind you, I don't think young folk use the word 'trendy'. Does 'groovy' still work ... I digress.
One good friend noted, from a standing position on the outer dance floor that she couldn't bring herself, as the sober driver, to join in the music driven battle. She had no illusions - she looked on at the truly awful spectacle unfolding before her, she could see with unclouded eyes and a head that would be able to retain all memories when the dawn clouted into other fuzzy still-banging morning heads. And it was dark, so thank goodness for the mercy of darkness, it doesn't only secret away trolls and monsters.
Luckily, also loud - very, very loud. Because quite often, when you're doing your moves on the dance floor, you're also singing. And of course you think you can sing, and of course you can. You're Madonna on the dance floor ... with a few more jiggly bits. Unfortunately, if your vocals are somewhat limited in the shower, a glass of wine isn't the wonder sing-thing. And lyrics, well the specially written lyrics to gallop along to the tune you're throwing yourself about to, are not a prequisite for belting out said song.
Don't get me onto karaoke ... the night I nearly (inadvertently) garrotted the DJ ...
Appropriate fortification is needed prior to public humiliation. However, as you put your left foot in and shake whatever about (and many of the things shaking didn't used to shake in your youth) to the Dancing Queen, just jolly well enjoy yourself. You have nothing to lose, and if you've had kids, then your dignity is long-gone.
"You can dance ... you can jive ..." It must be true, then. Thanks Abba.
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