Dance Season No 10: When it's time to walk away...

I danced for 5 hours on Sunday night - the music at the CurlyWurly Sunday event in Huddersfield was wonderful, the dancers varied and considerate - except for a prat who danced like he was drunk (but sadly wasn't) and wandered across the floor (through the slots and in front of dancers) like he had no self-awareness (which unsurprisingly he didn't). There was a gentleman who declined to dance with our host - how short-sighted is that?

I danced the best I could but throughout I felt I should be giving more. My energy was not sufficient to do my share - I had failed in my first task. A malaise sets in.

By Tuesday it hit a new low. I gazed at the freestyle dance floor and it felt alien. Three or four dances in it felt alien too. What on earth was I doing there?

But the time I was due to dance again I sensed the writing was on the wall for that night. I didn't belong there. I left - heavy hearted at the change in me - assured it would change back. But then since then the assurance has transmuted to hope and I'm not a hope filled man.

I have no desire to learn West Coast Swing or to go off for a few days dancing or drive for hours to a disappointing dance, no desire to compete, no desire to be taught, no desire to tumble into the self regarding cliques or into discourse habitual chatterers. I wnat to do what I used to do but get better at it by hearing the music. But I can't at the moment. No desire to dance: I don't want to be there.

All I can hold onto is that I have been here before: but for now I should just walk away.

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