In which David goes folk-dancing.

I have a theory that it does me good to do unusual things. Giving my brain something different to do is, I tend to think, a good way to get me thinking in alternative patterns, and to learn new stuff and generally forestall my neurons declining more than they have to. So it is that occasionally I head out into the wilds of London with the intention of ending up somewhere I wouldn't normally go because it'll be fun and interesting, right?

I found myself questioning this assumption the other night, as I stood outside a large hall somewhere in North London listening to the muffled sound of fiddle, drum and squeezebox and wondering if folk-dancing was something I really wanted to do. Yes, doing things which are different is one thing but there are limits. I watched a selection of stout fellows with impressive facial hair chatting about beer heading into the hall and considered just turning round and going home. Folk music and dancing, like people in a huge felt top hat playing a digeridoo or people dressed up like a jester saying "La! Ta-ra-diddle!", are one of the things which causes the blood to rush to my head and my knuckles to itch. I really, really should, I thought, go home.
One thing stopped me. I'd paid in advance. I went in.

Inside, I very quickly became aware of two things. Firstly that the orgianisers of the evening, like pretty much everyone I've ever met involved in alternative lifestyles, were kind, friendly, cheerful and utterly bloody useless. It took ten minutes to get past the front desk as they rummaged in an endearingly scatty* way through their papers to find my booking to prove I'd already coughed up, and then rummaged in an endearingly scatty** way through more paperwork to find my tickets and let me in.
The second, and far more important, thing I noticed was that folk dancing is absolutely crammed with attractive women. As I was with the she-David I paid no heed to this whatsoever - in fact, it barely impinged on my consciousness - but once I'd picked up my tongue and shut my mouth I found myself wondering Why the blimming heck did nobody tell me about this fifteen years ago? You say "Folk dancing", I say "Target rich environment". "Cripes", I said in a Boris Johnson-y way, and suggested to the She-David she went to the bar and took her time about it whilst I learned a few introductory steps.

Now you shouldn't listen to what anyone else says; I am an utterly fantastic dancer and dissenting reports to this statement should be ignored, so I took to folk dancing like a duck to water. There was a fellow standing at the front calling out the steps and frequently reminding me that I should now be taking my partner by the hand, grabbing a girl and swinging her round (my favourite bit of the evening, bar none), or performing a Do-Si-Do.*** It all went very well, especially the bit when people were supposed to stand in the middle of the circle and do an individual dance: yeah, so what if other people did a jig or whatever? I maintain that air guitar is a legitimate folk dance move.

In all, it was warm work - folk dancing is very lively and they didn't open any windows - but surprisingly good fun. Who knew?

^{*Irritating
**Extremely irritiating
***I normally associate a large beardy man telling me to do-si-do with incredibly painful memories of that time in Wormwood Scrubs that I try to blank out with drink.}