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smokingbootThere was a time when I would have run from this like the clappers. But no running for me last night, oh no. They lock the doors you see.
Joking, joking. What happened was this: doubtless inspired by our group's recent victory with the storytelling day, we were invited to the local council's celebraton of the town twinning with Cran Grevier. I went to catch up with a couple of mates, though the whole ceilidh thing worried me because of my foot. After a fair round on the pipes and a few pleasing songs (Marie's wedding was played, a song my father used to sing well) the dancing started in earnest and, reader, I was afeart.
Of course the dance master talked and walked people through the steps beforehand, but Scottish dancing isn't known for restraint. The Gay Gordons is gentle enough, though beyond me. Here's how it is meant to be danced: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7fikiE39Ws And here is how I might dance it given training and less than a bottle of wine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nn9QLyXx-CY
I pleaded off with my foot, and watched. If I was wary of the Gay Gordons, Strip The Willow and The Dashing White Sergeant looked terrifying, people being flung across the room joyfully, and our French guests determined not to be mystified, getting into the vibe with gusto. There was so much good humour and warmth, all I could do was be happy, and when a friend asked me to dance the St Bernard's Waltz ('it's so slow, your foot will be fine') I couldn't say no. He led very well, we didn't do the customary stamping (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6HmXvC_tSA) and I asked him how he came to learn the steps. 'Every Friday, instead of gym, we had to practice these dances,' he said, 'it's drummed into you, like Scottish independence!'
There was, of course, a raffle. I won a tin of Quality Street, a lesser prize but not the least. From off the table of choices, one lady picked a sparkling little mystery. I will never forget her puzzled expression as she pulled the packet out of its shiny paper, looked at it and then across at her companions. 'It's a pair of tights,' she said.
Then she shrugged. Then she danced. And the band played on.
Joking, joking. What happened was this: doubtless inspired by our group's recent victory with the storytelling day, we were invited to the local council's celebraton of the town twinning with Cran Grevier. I went to catch up with a couple of mates, though the whole ceilidh thing worried me because of my foot. After a fair round on the pipes and a few pleasing songs (Marie's wedding was played, a song my father used to sing well) the dancing started in earnest and, reader, I was afeart.
Of course the dance master talked and walked people through the steps beforehand, but Scottish dancing isn't known for restraint. The Gay Gordons is gentle enough, though beyond me. Here's how it is meant to be danced: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E7fikiE39Ws And here is how I might dance it given training and less than a bottle of wine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nn9QLyXx-CY
I pleaded off with my foot, and watched. If I was wary of the Gay Gordons, Strip The Willow and The Dashing White Sergeant looked terrifying, people being flung across the room joyfully, and our French guests determined not to be mystified, getting into the vibe with gusto. There was so much good humour and warmth, all I could do was be happy, and when a friend asked me to dance the St Bernard's Waltz ('it's so slow, your foot will be fine') I couldn't say no. He led very well, we didn't do the customary stamping (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6HmXvC_tSA) and I asked him how he came to learn the steps. 'Every Friday, instead of gym, we had to practice these dances,' he said, 'it's drummed into you, like Scottish independence!'
There was, of course, a raffle. I won a tin of Quality Street, a lesser prize but not the least. From off the table of choices, one lady picked a sparkling little mystery. I will never forget her puzzled expression as she pulled the packet out of its shiny paper, looked at it and then across at her companions. 'It's a pair of tights,' she said.
Then she shrugged. Then she danced. And the band played on.
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