I was allowed out of my cave on Saturday night, to support my husband in his new found passion for ballroom dancing. It all started a couple of years ago when I was invited to participate in a dancing competition at Pickles’ Ballroom in Magalluf. Taking the same format as the BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing programme, each of the beginners was given a short course in the waltz and the cha-cha and then thrown to the judging lions, or at least that’s how it felt when I did it. It’s nerve-wracking to dance in public: imaging you’re dancing a romantic dance in front of a hundred or so people, and then judged on it. It’s a tough thing to do, but I completely fell in love with both dancing and the idea of the competition, or perhaps the performance, at the time. (If you’re wondering how I did, I proudly came second).
So, a couple of years on, and the boot, as they say, is on the other foot. I am the supporter of my valiant husband, who only started dancing because I begged him and my Dad (who’s a bit more experienced in the whole ‘dancing in public’ thing) to learn a dance for us to do for my (whisper it) fortieth birthday. My husband, Oliver, amazingly was bitten by the bug, and when invited by Ian Pickles to take part in the competition eagerly agreed to do it. But there is a difference between dancing in private to it being judged in public, so I had tried to prepare Ollie for it. What I wasn’t prepared for was my own unscheduled public commentary on the same evening.
I am an avid user of http://www.facebook.com: if you don’t use this online networking site, then please forgive me, but I find it a very useful way to meet people in Mallorca – I have made new friends and even found employment through it. Facebook is a great way to get guidance on living in a small community, and I find that I have found my way of keeping a diary. Finally. I’m not very disciplined, so only being able to write an entry of 420 characters is more realistic for me than anything that Samuel Pepys or Anne Frank might have been able to manage.
So, imagine my surprise when several people in the audience commented on my Facebook entries, and on my EWN columns. Writing in the security of my living room, with a glass of wine and something educational on the telly, I had forgotten that anyone might actually read it. So hello to Elaine, John, Frank, Adam, and Barbara, and thank you for your encouraging and interesting comments.
Oh, by the way, Ollie didn’t win, but that’s okay, he’s still my winner, and that’s okay: my caveman can look after himself.