Battered and bruised

It’s a dangerous game this ballroom dancing lark.

Turning up bright and early for our 8.30 lesson, we breezed into the church hall and nearly gave our teacher a heart attack when he turned round not expecting to see anyone and saw us standing there.  Honestly, he’s so highly strung, he’ll drop dead of fright one of theses days. Of course rather than feel sorry for scaring the pants off him we just stood there laughing our socks off at his expression of shock. I mean, it’s not as though he wasn’t expecting us, is it?

Eventually we caught up with the week’s gossip and got on with the lesson, we’re working on the Paso Doble these days.  Part of the routine has something in it called a ‘coup de pique’.

I took this information from a dance website so you get the idea:

It says; “A coup de pique is sort of a “stab of irritation.” I think, with the trail foot, we are jabbing at the bull to make him more ferocious. Grrr.”

Boofuls struggled a bit with that but it  annoyed him enough that he managed to get the aggressive character of the dance down to a T. He was snarling at me while we practised. Actual snarling!  Not only that but he was throwing me round so much I’ve got paso doble bruises on my arm. . His coup de piques though looked  a bit like he was having a mini temper tantrum, his little feet were going ten to the dozen. he got all the steps  but  not necessarily in the right order or with the right timing. Made me laugh – a lot. Poor Boofuls.

Mind you, I wasn’t very happy muself when John, our teacher, instructed me to “Lift your leg. Now lean back. Not too far, don’t forget your age.”

WHAAAT?!  How very dare he! Boofuls was doubled over laughing at my disgust. Think of my age indeed.

Moving on:

This is how a paso doble should be done:

Of course me and Boofuls look exactly  like that when we’re doing it.  Well, to be more accurate, that’s how we sound rather than look, we practice to the same music.

Out teacher was funny today. He was explaining a step to us when he suddenly noticed my button encrusted jumper. “Oooohh, I like your buttons. love!’ he said in a shrill voice. He sounded  as camp as a row of tents!

Such was the pitch of his voice that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had minced, limp wristed  around the floor  on his cuban heels. Then he realised  that he might have sounded a bit camp. “Oh my God! I’ve been a dance teacher way too long – I’m turning gay! I’m not gay. Honest. Listen.”  He lowered his voice many, many  octaves and tried the comment about the jumper again.  So funny, I could hardly stand for laughing never mind dance.

So, like I said. It’s a dangerous game, this dancing lark. At some point we all very  nearly died laughing this morning.


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