Just a dancing queen...

Abba may have sung of a Dancing Queen.

But last night in Birmingham, I was THE Dancing Queen.

I don't dance, simple rule, I don't dance.
Ever.

When we go places where dancing occurs I stand at the bar and occupy myself with stuff, talk to random strangers, pretend that I have far more important things to do other than dance.

I don't dance you see.

I have never danced, not even in the bathroom where there is only my reflection in the mirror to laugh at me, the only time I have been known to dance, the only times that Suzanne can ever remember me dancing is on our wedding night when the DJ pulled a handgun out from under the decks and threatened me with death by pain if I didn't get up on the dance floor with my new bride and take the first dance, I aquiesced under extreme protest and the bas'tad made us dance to John Paul Youngs "Love Is In The Air" an absolute belter of a contender for "The Worst Song In The World - EVER" award, its the sort of song that really bad club turns perform to old ladies waiting for the bingo to start - I hate the song, I hate the singer, I especially hate the bas'tad DJ, I hate to dance.

Last night I was THE Dancing Queen.
For three minutes I danced before sneaking off back to the bar.

When your boss tells you that you cannot leave the ballroom and nor will the DJ pack up and go home without you first dancing with her, then you dance, you dance like your end of year final dividend depends on it, which I believe it did, so I danced, there are mitigating circumstances you see.