The day of reckoning has arrived and the YMCA dance is upon us . We have had three practice sessions and still look like a bunch of nurses trying to look coordinated to a 1970's soundtrack. The other night had us all practicing at R's house and the mood was perhaps more sombre as the dance routine was drawing nearer. J was in full costume rehearsal - black leather trousers, motorbike boots and gay biker hat worn jauntily on the side of her head in the style of Dick Emery's Mandy. After an amazing curry made with loving care by R's husband, we got back to business and started the routine again. During the high arm extensions to Y-M-C-A, I felt a twinge in my shoulder and ignored it. I got to bed and during the night must have rolled onto it and the pain woke me up. Yesterday it got so bad, I can barely extend it so there's been verbal threats, anti-inflammatory tablets, hot water bottle and early night but it's still pretty bad. I've now decided I'm the Michael Owen of the dance world. Lots of promise, a bit nifty in the final third, scores majestically, but plagued by injury. My graduation party bash in December was the same... goosed knee.
Anyway, I shall still be there tonight giving it 110% on the dance floor but my YMCA's may go a little dyslexic as my arm movements are a little hampered. Pineapple Dance Studios it won't be. More like Kumkwat Cricket Club for crocked nurses who used to have a bit of credibility before they started wearing false handlebar moustaches and gay biker hats.
No comments:
Post a Comment