Tag Archives: Dancing

I Need A Dance Song

1 Mar

Three points:

  • I love writing but it is tedious at times, especially when you’re as anal as I am
  • I have no money
  • I like to reward myself when I finish something
  • I can’t count

When I completed my first two (unpublished) collections, at various stages I danced: a reward for sticking with the drafting/editing/proofing process. Dancing is better than money. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

The habit began by accident.  I wrote my South African collection over twenty years. One day, it occurred to me that I had unwittingly written a themed collection but it needed crafting. I listened to Mango Groove, a South African band, as I worked on it, and I felt like dancing after weeks slaving over a hot computer, so I put on Dance Sum More:

When it came to my second collection, Wholly Man, the South African vibe was all wrong, so I found this:

My third collection, published this summer, is a lighthearted look at menopause and motherhood. I have just completed the first draft and sent it off to my publisher* – literally ten minutes ago – and I was appalled to realise I have no dance song to celebrate.

Any suggestions?

It has to be cheerful and danceable and related to menopause and/or motherhood.

Find me something – I know you love a challenge.

*Which is why I haven’t yet replied to your comments; but I will, I promise…as soon as I finish reading my next course text (once I begin reading it) and write a poem based on it, due in tomorrow lunchtime.


I Won’t Dance; Don’t Ask Me

18 Sep

Thanks to my sisinlawann for sending me this link:

Despite his recently diagnosed restless legs, the Hub can’t dance any more.  The Hub can barely walk downstairs any more without being out of breath.  We thought it was the CFS/ME but when he went to the doctor about his legs she had him take a blood sample.  Turns out he’s anaemic.  It’s quite rare in men so he has to go to the hospital for an invasion.*

*The Hub swears she said ‘examination’ but from the disgusting things they might possibly be doing to him, ‘invasion’ sounds nearer the mark.

The silver lining to all this, of course, is that at least it’s him and not me.  I can’t put a large forkful of food in my mouth without gagging; it’s why I don’t eat trifle.

The Hub won’t be doing this any time soon (though he will probably manage the first bit of the video):

I used to love dancing.  I can tap dance, and I have three certificates and a bronze medal to prove it.  I also have scarring on my arm: as a child, I swung round and round in dancing joy and accidentally clocked the dog and he bit me.

Um, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration for dramatic effect: our aged golden labrador, Bruce, happened to be yawning as I span spun spinned whirled around and my arm went in his mouth and he licked me.  I shouldn’t malign that beautiful old dog; he was so gentle, the budgie would land on his head and peck him and he would run under the couch to get away from it.

This isn’t him:

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