Fred and Ginger have *nothing* to worry about (except maybe getting knocked over...)

well, it's Valentines Day.

not being Catholic, nor a pawns of the greetings card industry, we don't "do" VD.  what we did do, however, was go to a Valentines dance.  yep, that's right - last night was our first proper dance, six weeks or so after beginning to learn how to do it properly.  well...  depending on the occasion, of course.  i've been shaking my booty on dancefloors for many a year but, as you know, we've been learning the more formal version.  specificaly the quickstep and the waltz, so far.  foxtrot lessons start tomorrow.  :)

N.B. hubby's a little apprehensive about this, but i'm looking forward to it.  just the name of it makes me smile, imagining woodland creatures galloping up and down kicking leaf litter about...

aaanyway, our ballroom class instructors run a lesson and dance on sunday nights at the Rolls Royce Pavillion in Derby, and we decided to amble on along, to see what it was like.  last night was themed along the lines of VD, of course, but i got the impression that it wasn't much different from what normally goes on. 

 this is the sight that greeted us as we walked in.  a little early, rather than to everyone canoodling under the tables, as someone on Twitter suggested (i'm looking at you, @twiteryeanot).  as we sat there looking around, hubby and i had the same thought.  my mum and dad and, indeed, my much-missed nana and grandad, would perhaps have had the same view, once upon a time.  about half of my immediate family, being almost solely from Derby, were employed by Rolls Royce at one time or another.  mum and dad met there, when mum was 15 and dad was 19. 

as it turns out, they wouldn't have had quite this view, since the building we were in had been built long after they had both left for pastures new (or South Africa as it's more usually known - they emigrated for three years not long after they were married, but that's another story)

nontheless, the sense of family and history was quite tangible, and sort of comforthing.

the evening started with a slight departure from the norm.  usually, there'll be, as i mentioned, a regular lesson for an hour, and then the dancefloor is opened up for dancing and practicing.  in honour of VD, however, last night's lesson was in how to smooch decorously.  it was interesting, and entertaining.  i had no idea there was so much involved in dancing on the spot... *grin*

 hubby had a haircut especially for the occasion.  it's shorter than i've ever seen it, but it suits him rather well, i think.  and it will be more of a shaggy mop by the time we go to france.  that's his plan, anyway...

following the lesson, we retired to the sidelines to watch as those braver / more experienced souls present began to strut their stuff.  and i disappeared to the ladies' to ensure i was still gorgeous....

...yep...  ;)

so we sat around for a while, marvelling at the skill of some of those present.  seriously - i wish i'd taken video of one particular couple (i didn't as it seemed impolite, somehow).  they were astonishing!  every single dance, no matter what it was, they kicked. its. ass.  and my gods, were they having a good time doing it!  

eventually, however, i persuaded hubby that since we were here, it might be nice to have a dance.  i was raring to go, but he was a little reluctant.  understandable, really.  having done it for most of my life, i'm somewhat better at making a fool of myself.

it was a waltz.

it was a disaster.

we were both a little flustered, and either one or the other would add an extra step, or forget one (i freely admit it was mostly my fault, BTW).  not long after i tripped over the stage (!), the instructor (who was playing DJ for the night), jumped in, and danced a figure or two with me, reminding me to stamp my feet to keep time.

it didn't work too well, i have to say.  fortunately, the song ended not long after, and we beat a hasty retreat.

i made another trip to the loo, and got lost in the warren of corridors and little rooms in the building.  i happened upon a teenyweeny little dancefloor in a deserted side room, and quickly went and grabbed hubby for a private practice to restore our confidence.

it worked.

the second dance we stood up for, a quickstep, went much, much better.  we still cocked it up, of course, but this time, we didn't really mind, and there was a fair bit of laughter.  this evening, hubby remarked that it's much easier to dance in public when it's more structured, since everyone who's ever learned to dance like this is aware that one has to learn, and one will make mistakes (or "variations", as our instructor calls them...)  when one's dancing freestyle, as in a club, etc, it's much easier to look a tit, because everyone knows that everything comes from you and you alone - there is no outside structure imposed - and any mistakes or idiocies are entirely one's own.

it was lovely.

i was at a dance, and my man was whisking me around the dance floor, and  i was happy and in love.  :)

the rest of the evening passed in relaxed good humour, and i am so very, very proud of both of us.

i can't wait to go again!  :)

.

30 Day blog challenge: Day 18 - Whatever tickles your fancy.

Dammit, I’ve been scuppered! Because i had been thinking about this one for a few days, wondering what i could share that wasn’t likely to scar you for life. And realised i have certain bizarre and completely useless talents. But that’s tomorrow’s post. And i can’t just sit here recording random brainfarts, can i? I suppose i could tell you about what I’m doing tonight... but I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned it before...

Well, hell if i have - I’m gonna tell you again.

Just after Christmas, i suggested to hubby that i might be vaguely interested in taking ballroom dancing lessons. To his credit, he barely flinched and, eventually (if reluctantly), agreed. Quite apart from being a bloke (well...the last time i looked, anyway... ;o), and that not being a traditionally “manly” pursuit, hubby is, whilst not shy, nor introverted, somewhat the opposite of a show-off. He quiet, and speaks usually only when he has something to say worth hearing. In contrast, of course, to me, who chatters on about inanities almost constantly.
Aaanyway.
This extends to dancing in public. He doesn’t. Well... not often. I would even go so far as to say seldom. And he was not keen. And he got less keen as the fateful day approached.
But he did it, for me. And to both our surprise (and my utter delight), he enjoyed it.
We went again last Tuesday, and he enjoyed it again, despite some frustrations at not being able to get a new step we’d been taught. This led to a little fun, actually. Wanting to practice the move, so we didn’t make fools of ourselves tonight, and our house not even being big enough to swing a cat, we needed somewhere else to practice our quickstep corners.
Our house is on a main road, not far down which is the entrance to our local tennis club. The drive to the club goes down between the houses and emerges behind the gardens. Our house backs on to the grass courts. The chain link fence is very useful, since it allows us to see through the trees at the end of the garden to the grass beyond, which (visually, at least), extends our garden. At the end of the drive is a car park.
After dark on Saturday night, we ambled on down there, and practiced. It was funny, and annoying, and irritating, and funny, and dizzying. Spinning round and round trying to get the steps right, I’m surprised we didn’t end up lying in a tangled heap. But we managed. It helps, I find, if I don’t try to lead… >_< We didn’t quite get it, but I think we got better…
I guess I’ll find out in an hour or so…

And in reply to @AislingWeaver, who responded to my cry for help:

Purple. Because it’s sumptuous and delicious, and the right shade can feed my soul. X

new bike (as yet, nameless)

dear reader, it hath arrived!  the new bike is in da house, and poor Trob is no more. :o(

when i put the deposit on the newbie, there were one or two things that needed attending to.  it needed a new passenger footpeg, chain and sprocket (one of my favourite words, by the way!), new handlebar grips, and new throttle cables.  i was supposed to pick it up the following saturday, but the new throttle cables proved to be a bit of a problem.  according to John (of John Carr Motorcycles of Somercotes, Derbyshire the place the newbie came from), the cables would normally be on the shelf at his supplier.
however, continuing our pattern of luck with vehicles, they were not. 
saturday came around, no bike.  he said probably monay, maaaaybe tuesday.  so i waited, and twitched a little. 
monday?  no.  "We got a big box of kawasaki parts, but no cables." (thanks, john - really needed to know that...*more twitching*)  "don't worry though - they'll be here soon."
okaaaay....  tuesday?  still no. 
and they were shut on wednesday. 
tuesday was a fairly despondent day.  i (like the rest of the world) really, really hate waiting for stuff, and by now i was reconciled to saying goodby to Trob, looking forward to the new experience of (for the first time ever, dear reader) using a vehicle that was less than ten years old(!) i was excited, dammit!  i may, though, not have been quite so despondent if some kind friend (and you know who you are! *gives said friend a stern look*) had not mentioned the fact that the parts may have to be flown in from somewhere, and the ash cloud was still dancing in the skies above us, grounding all of the air traffic.
(btw - check out these beautiful pictures of the volcano and the Aurora Borealis! ^_^)
and so to thursday.  i had, by now, resigned myself to the thought that it may indeed be the ash cloud that was causing the delay, and i may have to wait days, or even weeks, for the Icelandic Volcano Gods to settle down again.  i was dealing with it.  i had also, optimistically and just in case, booked thursday afternoon off.  i fully intended to take it, too.  (i reasoned that if the cables still hadn't arrived, then at least i could pin down a short story that had blossomed in my brain in the middle of the night.  and, in my best Kirsty Wark voice, more on that later....)
i called the bike shop at about half past ten, with everything crossed.  "Oh, hi!  yeah - it's on the bench now - be ready in a couple of hours"

happy. dance.

in joy i went home, to wait for the call to say i could go pick up my new toy.  i actually got sick of waiting for the call and rang up at about half past three to be told it had been ready for an hour.  didn't care.  i had used my waiting time well, and had managed to pin down the first half of the story.  this made me happy.  and now i could finally, finally pick up my new bike.
i could tell you in detail about the experience.  the heat and sweat in my bike gear, the excitement, the lengthy process of transferring ownership of two vehicles at once (hampered by at least half a dozen phonecalls).  the bittersweet moment when i finally said goodbye to my faithful old warhorse of a Kawasaki GT750. (proud of myself that i managed not to cry, by the way).
but i suspect it would be of very little interest to anyone other than myself.  so i won't bore you.  instead, i will show you some pictures:

practically my last view of my dear old Trob.  holding back the tears.

(btw, the dent on the tank happened in the first year i had her - tried to set off with the chain lock still attached to the back wheel.  promptly fell over, and only a concrete post saved me from the deadly shame of being unable to pick her up by myself.)

shiny new toy!

...mmm...shiiiiny......

weird angle, rrreeeeally pretty disc brakes....

shiny FTW!!! (hubby has very sternly informed me that i may wish to keep her this way...)

so i took her for a little inaugral jaunt around a few local country lanes.  just to get used to the ride, you understand... ;o)

the difference was astounding.  riding Trob, i now realise, was like sitting in an old, battered armchair that has moulded to the shape of one's body.  comfortable, solid, stable.  maaaaybe a little creaky.  but familliar and beloved.
the new bike is a different beast entirely.  it was like moving from an armchair to a bar stool.  the centre of balance is higher, thus feels a little precarious for the first ride or two.  but then - oooohhhh, but then.

my, my, dear reader.  i may not be in love, but i've certainly got that glow.  the ride position is totally different.  from being slouched comfortably and cruising along (...um...apart from doing the odd ton down the A38 when i feel the need for speed...*ahem*), i have gone to being forced to actively adopt a racing position - leant forward over the tank (sometimes feeling like i've got my nose practically over the front wheel!), legs bent in a ready-to-spring almost-crouch, and, yes, a bit of a daft grin.  the throttle is so responsive!  the breaks are so sharp! (*makes mental note* will have to watch out for that...). and the movement.  this bike, i kid you not, moves like a dancer.  the balance, the poise... oh, bliss!  it makes me want to weave from side to side on straight roads.  i crave bends and potholes, just for the chance to weave my sinuous way around them!  actually, with this being far more of a sports bike than a cruiser, i have to go around the potholes.  the seat and suspension are sooo firm!!!  boy oh boy, is my arse going to be sore for a while!
but i care not.  New Bike is happymaking. ^_^

-

just a quick word about the new story.  it's called Ink Devil, and it's set in a library.  as i said, i got the first half pinned down on Thursday, the rest of it came through yesterday.  and it's a bit...um...well, let's put it this way:  i love it, but i may have to wait until the blushes die down before i post it....

.

missing post

...and now, i really HAVE been away for ages! bloody phone has now decided that i CAN'T blog from it. *grumblegrumblegrumble*

oh, well - here's one that should have been posted (I forget when - Monday? Tuesday? anyway...):

"Well, i hope this works, this time. (hah!)
soundtrack to this post is Empire by Kasabian, BTW. currently, Apnoea. i love that song, despite its puzzling clubness. a tiny part of that is because apnoea takes your breath away, and i kind of associate this with the rush of utter bliss of dancing in a club, and one of your favourites comes on, and you're *already* in amongst that heaving, sweating, many bodied animal on the dancefloor, and damn, it feels GOOD!!!
hah - wasn't actual;ly going to blog about that. i think i was going to say something along the lines of what a strange and wondrous place the interwebz is. for me, at any rate. daily, it astonishes me in unexpected ways. and one day, i may even attempt to explain the previous tautology (?)....
...but not today, for my bus journey is nearly over..."