We're all doing our best to ignore the sudden death of Brucie, but let's face it, when the lights go out and the sequins come off, someone's going to have to clear away that body.
Anyhoo, having been milked for money at the Hastings branch of Shakeaway yesterday afternoon, Lisa, Amelie and I accepted the offer of some free tickets to the Battle Baptist Church Barn Dance in the evening. It was being held to mark the traditional Christian festival of Harvest, when we ask God to bless the farmers as they gather out-of-date tins of soup for the local care home. Lisa and I are veterans of the hokey-cokey, and Amelie likes to lead us a merry dance, so it seemed like the perfect Saturday night out.
And so it proved. After all, if there's one girl who knows how to make an entrance, steal the show, and then fall asleep in the entrance hall, it's Amelie...
She had the time of her life last night. Never has anyone combined the two qualities of enthusiasm and ineptitude so completely. Not only was she the keenest dancer there, but she was also the least concerned about getting it wrong. Which is fortunate as she did so on an almost constant basis.
We all had to learn the dances by copying the bloke at the front, so it was essentially a case of monkey see, monkey do-si-do. Some were more complicated than others, so I like to think that Lisa and I only joined in on the really difficult ones. Our steps weren't so much Dirty Dancing as mucked up. But it's not easy promenading as a couple when you've got a toddler in a balloon hat and fairy wings running in between you.
Ultimately though, we all had a good time. Amelie did a good impression of Lydia Grant from 'Fame' by throwing a major tantrum every time we tried to sit out a dance, but other than that, it went well. In fact the harvest was so bumper that Lisa and I both helped ourselves to a second dessert. I'll leave the last dance to my Dad though, who tripped the light fantastic and set the dance floor on fire with this hot shoe shuffle towards the end of the evening.
We'd all had a lot of practice by this point, which I think is evident in the fancy footwork and intricate steps on display. If you're not sure which one my Dad is, he's the one in the middle giving Ann Widdecombe a run for her money. Well, I say run. It's more of a slow leg in the air...
I think that's what Luther Vandross had in mind when he wrote 'Dance With My Father'. The orange glow in the background is our hopes and dreams going up in smoke.