Some people would say dancing is beautiful and graceful, and it is. It’s all that and more ~ it’s joyful and soul warming. But it’s brutal at the same time.
My dance teacher says when it starts to hurt is when you’re starting to dance. This is true when I rumba extending every muscle and sinew, to create a graceful line. It is also especially true when someone back heels you in a social dance, scraping you from ankle to floor. That fucking hurts!
This is what happened on Saturday night at the Rivoli ~ three days later the bruising has definitely developed and is working its way down my foot … *retch*
Last year I missed all the Spitalfields Tea Dances due to illness and recovering from the operation. This year I was determined to go to as many as possible and most definitely the last one of the season. I only ever go with Tony and I managed to persuade him [it wasn’t hard] to come to the last one of the year.
We met a few other people we know from our dancing circles and danced the lunch time away. I’ve started to venture into leading (without any lessons) which is even more tricky when you’re trying to navigate fifty odd other couples.
Michael even got Sharon and I to do a 6-legged rumba, which was great and stressful, especially when I had to lead (because I fucked-up). Looking forward to next season.
As I stepped into Bishopsgate Institute's Ballroom, I realise I hadn't been here in probably 18 months. Not since before surgery and probably a while before then too. The lighting's different, as is the set-up. In fact it's all different, but lovely and atmospheric. And more importantly, it's a dance floor and I have my feet on it.
For four hours we whisked and weaved our way around the floor; we jived and rumba'd; we sweated and laughed. By the end of the night we could barely walk, but it was all worth it.
I’m lying on my back in my living room, staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out if I’m ok or injured – nano-seconds earlier I was stood in my kitchen. What. A. Twat! What an utter twat!
I’d been practicing my rumba turns to try and sharpen them up – my rope spin, is at times ropey, so you know socks, shiny floor, great music why wouldn’t you … fucking disaster!
… I manage to keep the 360° turn tight and start to settle and … lose my balance, unable to unwrap my feet, I reach out to try and steady myself, but find nothing but air, falling through the doorway to the living room, scraping my tit on the doorframe on the way, akin to Del Boy falling through the bar.
So here I lie prostrate on the floor with bruised and scraped tit.
I’m so excited to be back in the Ballroom and more specifically at the Rivoli ballroom social again. I missed February as my friends were getting married – don’t get me wrong, that was most excellent, but it did leave a big-old-gap between Rivoli visits. However, that did also mean that I was as excited as a child at Christmas before this visit.
There were a good few of the regulars there thankfully – so I managed to spend nearly all of the 4+hrs dancing ~ sweaty fun!
I haven’t done a masterclass in a while – and this is the first one this year ~ a gruelling 3hrs of technique and learning a routine from scratch… On. A. Sunday!
Typically what happens is this: part way through the 3hrs my brain just gives up and forgets how to either link moves together; or the routine itself; or gets confused if the orientation of routine in the room changes ~ today all of those things happened. By the end it’d all gone to pot and I definitely didn’t want to solo dance in front of the class … oh, lordy-be no!
It was great to dance Samba again though – I only get to dance it now at the Rivoli Social which is once a month, which is probably why it’s become less natural to dance and remember. I love it though.
God it’s so good to be back in the ballroom for 4.5 hours of dancing. It was an utterly glorious night zinging around in circles, quickstepping, waltzing, jiving – doing line dance after line dance ~ I barely sat down all night Continue reading January Rivoli