In honour of new musical Rock of Ages, London’s institute of Club de Fromage had organised a 80’s Rock night. I had planned to leave London for the weekend, a change in plans – as so common in my life recently – made I could attend.
Much to the delight of my Spanish colleague who’s been trying to persuade me to come out. Her sighs of ” You are always busy!”, the realisation that my nights out mostly consist of ‘dinner’ or ‘quiet drink in pub’ ; and perhaps (bravely confessed here) a tiny bit of a bruised ego – saw us queuing in Islington around midnight.
The night did what it said on the tin: 80s music and cheese. As we entered Queen blared out of the speakers. We came there to dance (with the extortionate prices, we were definitely not getting drunk.) and dance we did. This is not about showing off musical intellect or breakdance skills. It is about just singing along and having fun: they play the Spice Girls for chrissakes.
A few events during the night brought back memories:
Most people will be horribly drunk.
– Drunk people who dance, spill their drinks. Over you. I think I got drenched in vodka/lemonades and beer about five times last night.
– Drunk people also throw wild moves, as my poor friend discovered after being hit for the third time by an always apologetic, but always very drunk gent.
We were having a good time by ourselves which inadvertently meant that others wanted to share in our happiness. Now gents, here a few tips to pull off a dance with a lady:
– If you want to dance, you must already do so. Jumping between us after having stared immobile at us for half an hour, throwing a random move, is just weird.
– Respect the fact that there are two of us. Either by accepting there will only be one half-dance, or by recruiting your mate as a wingman.
– Don’t assume a dance is a kiss. Especially if you have a uber-hip haircut that really is just an East London version of the Jedward. As you lean in, I’m no longer laughing with you, rather at you – sorry.
– Don’t assume that after having danced, you have the right to grab on to us whenever we pass. If we’ve left, it’s for a reason.
-Don’t try it on by bowing or making some other Orientalesk move to get attention. I’ve mellowed and I was not intoxicated; I could still have that chip on my shoulder and punched you in the face. No winners there.
– Have fun, share a dance and a kiss on the cheek is enough of a thank you that makes neither of us look like a harlot. Then rejoin your mates.
When the lights went on, we got on a bus and went home. As I stood on the pavement trying to find the keys to the door, the cheeky driver of the N18 nightbus finishing his shift, flashed his lights at me. Haha.
Ah well, bruised ego gone: mission accomplished.