First Dance Macabre
First dance then. What should you do? Traditional waltz? Fevered Tango? Thriller?
We didn’t know, to start with, bar a frankly ridiculous suggestion of the dance in ‘Dirty Dancing’ where I would be expected to hold Wifey spirit-level horizontal above my head. Given that I don’t feel particular stable on an escalator, perhaps this is not the ideal way to go.
And we didn’t much fancy paying fifty quid a pop for stern lessons from an old German woman threatening us for getting our Waltz slightly imperfect either.
Some woman in a white dress jumped at Dan for the first dance
But, lo and behold, and by a bizarre twist of fate, Mrs Dan-To-Be’s boss’s son’s school were holding some dancing lessons as part of their ‘Schools And The Community’ outreach-y type programme.
This was £40 each for a six-week course and would be a beginner’s guide to all that jazzy dancy stuff you don’t see because, as an aggressive man-type, you don’t watch ‘Strictly Come Dancing’. Still, it would be nice to have a few more moves than putting my hands in my pockets and swaying like Mr Bean.
So, we turn up a bit nervous about what exactly was to happen. Especially nervous, in fact, as we’d missed the first week due to illness, and walked in ten minutes late into what felt like the choreographed hell I was expecting. My god! How much had they learnt the first week?! They were jumping about and spinning perfectly in time to ‘Beat It’.
Then, the words you never want to hear: ‘Hey, there’s more room down here at the front!’ where we proceeded to dance and skip around like some Fat Boy Slim-improvised routine in a shopping mall to ‘World’ music.
To this day, I still cannot electric slide properly.
However, over the course of that six weeks, I did learn to Cha-Cha and to Jive. Oh, and to Mambo, American Smooth and Disco Madison. And Progressive Cha-Cha. And Progressive Jive. And even some other stuff I can’t remember the name of. Whirligig Fruitloop. Or something.
And, you know what? It’s a shitload of fun. Primarily because it’s taught by the most laidback man in the world, Adam Hollingsworth. He’s Australian, so you have to put up with a lot of shit about cricket. Last laugh’s on him though: I couldn’t give a shit about cricket.
From someone who knew nothing about dancing and was very self-conscious with, well, movement, I quickly settled into this once-a-week Tuesday evening. Two hours with a class of around forty others in a similar position is a great laugh and a fantastic way to learn. Trying a few steps and then being forced to switch partners often to practice helps everyone: the better ones help you and you help those less fortunate. Eventually everyone gets it and it’s very easy to lose your inhibitions and get on with those snazzy moves. Or slightly less wooden moves.
Dancing with your other half is, to be honest, the hardest bit. They tend to judge you most harshly and tell you off for doing it wrong. Paradoxically, you’re much more comfortable dancing with anyone else other than your perfect partner. They certainly don’t like to be led by *you*. This, by the way, does not get easier the more you do it.
The bride and groom's professional moves brought out the worst in some guests
Thankfully, it didn’t stop after six weeks either, as the Aussie continued the very next school term. Another six weeks of ‘Intermediate’ lessons. I was getting better at this; much more comfortable, more relaxed and the pay-off was that we were putting together routines based on the dances. The more confident the men are, the more they lead, the better the dancing becomes. The women have to learn to be led though, that’s all I have to add at this juncture!
And a third term took us into increasingly inaccurately named ‘Advanced’ course, though by this time we were in a pub on Sunday evenings and it had become more of a social occasion. Adam was still teaching us new moves and combinations of moves, but the sense was much more one of fun than the pressure of ‘formal’ wedding dance lessons. And not a dull, slow waltz in sight! The best bit by now was *wanting* to go; genuinely enjoying it regardless of needing a ‘first dance’. A lot of fun and something we’ll still be doing well after the wedding day.
The first chance we got to try our moves was around two months before our wedding, at my (now) sister-in-law’s wedding. It wasn’t a great success (the dancing, I mean — not the wedding). Some of it went okay, but it hit home that we’d have to practice more – much more – before our own big day. However, the chief bridesmaid said to us that we ‘looked like we have some moves.’ These are the only words I’d wanted to hear from anyone since starting this charade! The dance lessons had clearly been a success!
The little ones had the fastest moves on the floor
By now, we were good friends with Adam, and he even took an evening out of his schedule just to help us put together an American Smooth routine to Modjo’s Lady (Hear Me Tonight) for the first dance.
And it was good! We blew them away with our fancy moves. Everyone loved it.
And through the night, we continued with our fancy footwork: a couple of Jives, (our first married argument over) a Mambo and an American Smooth Redux before we ended the evening with a furious, and almost completely flawless, high-tempo Cha-Cha to man’s man Ricky Martin’s Livin’ La Vida Loca. The fun we had, and encouragement we got, made it all worthwhile.
And bear this in mind too: when *you’re* having a lot of fun, your guests will love it and the atmosphere will be electric!
Adam missed our first dance by the way. He’d taken a wrong turning on the way to the venue and ran in just as people were applauding our flawless first dance. Not so good with the moves in the car, eh mate?
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