Zumba news first. My jump problem has been solved – I have translated ‘jump’ into Rose-speak where it means ‘bob’. Its not an exact translation, the knees and upper body move but the feet stay in contact with the floor but its close enough to get me by in Zumba world. Lunge, reach and kick kick 1,2,3 are my favourite moves at the moment. Inbetween feet remain elusive. Tonight I achieved red and sticky level. I was aiming for ‘glistening’ which wonderful woman models every week but, as in all things Zumba, there is quite large gap between what she accomplishes and what I do. I’m not sure what Miss Burrell would have to say about my sweaty state. She often shared the words ‘Horses sweat, men perspire, women glow’ with her class of juniors (of which I was one) and I still have a mind battle between sweating is a good thing and Miss Burrell will be disappointed if I sweat. I was in awe of Miss Burrell throughout my time at primary school. Not only did she know loads of things, she also had a brother who lived in Canada and she owned some astounding pieces of coral! Each year she brought the coral into school and we awaited this event with great excitement. I don’t think she ever sweated.
Saturday night was Hen Night. It created another footwear dilemma for me. I was going to wear my sparkly, highish heels or my pretty Asda non-bargains but was saved from what would have been a painful mistake because I couldn’t locate them easily. It is likely that they are under the bed but tidying of other rooms in the house has added to the amount of stuff under there and pushed the original stuff out of arms reach. D1 suggested I wear a pair of D2’s flat but cute shoes. I tried them on and reasoned that, although they were too big and were slipping of my feet with each step, as the night went on my feet would sweat and stop the slipping. I was right! By the end of the night they were a perfect fit and I felt justified in having a self satisfied smile to myself when others were standing barefoot, 4 inch heels in hand.
I settled on vodka and coke as my drink for the evening. My drink of choice c1980 was vodka and lime, no lemonade just lime. My knowledge of spirits and their partners at the time was limited to vodka and lime, gin and tonic and port and lemon. So I got used to a drink which doesn’t make any sense to me now. Anyway, back to 2012 and a bar in a street of bars. The Moulin Rouge Hens were looking very glamorous. (I’ll let the reader decide if I joined in the fancy dress theme). I was approached by a man who used one of my ’80s chat up tricks. He pretended he thought I was one of his son’s teachers, just like I used to pretend I thought people were my friend’s brother. We had a little conversation during which he pointed out his 18 year old son and even tried to include him in his ruse by saying his son had said I was his science teacher. He was pleasant (though a little tipsy, I believe) but not producing a ‘I’d like to spend my evening chatting with you’ feeling in me so I wasn’t in the least disappointed that the hens were ready to move to another bar. I was pleased I didn’t have to resort to my 80s tactic of popping to the ladies with the words ‘I’ll be back in a minute’ and then on leaving the ladies relocating to the opposite side of the room. I won’t go into any more details of my night out but when I accepted a swig of the cocktail that was being passed around the hens I knew I had to stop indulging in vodka and coke immediately. The cocktail had been concocted by mixing the dregs of the cocktails left on our table by the previous occupants. Oh dear. What would Miss Burrell say?