In praise of being ordinary

I can walk for miles, I can march in step, but when it comes to dancing, I disown my feet.

These days, rather than make a fool of myself, I don’t dance. Firm rule, never an exception. At weddings I sit over in the darkened corner at the back, hoping none of my relatives will make a scene telling me that I have to get up on the dance floor.

I haven’t always been like this. As a young buck I went to all the church dances, to the Saturday night dances at the Wonderland Ballroom, and often served as dancing partner with pretty young debutantes.

I didn’t have two left feet, and was pretty light in the moves for a waltz, two step, tango, foxtrot, and barn dance. I could keep my dance partners reasonably happy with swing, jive and boogie.

The secret was: Couples touched when they danced. I was holding a dancing partner, and could sense what move they wanted to do next.

This good life started to fall apart though, in the 60’s and 70’s. I began to feel incompetent when the Twist and the Limbo started.

At the time I was friends with a lithesome professional TV dancer. She could out-dance Syd Charisse. When she took to the floor, everyone else, including me, sat down to watch the beauty grace and skill while she danced in a world of her own making.

Then the world went crazy with dances where touching your partner was considered uncool. I blame women’s lib for that. The music industry peppered Saturday nights with ridiculous dance fads such as Mashed Potato, The Hitchhiker, Walking the Dog and the Harlem Shuffle. Look up clips of them on YouTube. People ‘did their own thing’ on the dance floor.

Then John Travolta did his thing in Saturday Night Fever. Dancing without touching. Not one male in a hundred could look that good on a dance floor.

The other 99 of us fell into deep depression with all these new gyrations. At any wedding or family party you can see for yourself how the men folk of my generation fell apart. No matter how hard we try to keep our dance partners happy, we look ridiculous. It has degenerated to a level of self satire.

We jerk and grimace and stomp and wave our limbs like puppets with broken strings.

I know there’s a camera waiting, ready for the next episode of ‘Funniest Home Videos’. Look on YouTube for less wary blokes who are trying to do what their women have been doing for years – freestyle on the dance floor. Geek dances , Boris Yeltsin and He feels good to be alive

What’s that? You think we could dance if we just tried?

Here’s some dance moves I have tried to choreograph, so I can get up on the floor and accommodate friends and family who are dancing fools.

• The Tin Man Walk, as in the wizard of Oz.
• Walking with a Zimmer Frame.
• On Roller Skates, Losing my Balance
• Stepping on soap in the shower.
• Old Man in Slippers Shuffle

Now matter how much I practice when I think no-one is watching, I could never be as smooth as this guy. Perhaps he is the one-in-hundred.