MORECAMBE,... WE HAVE A PROBLEM

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.

IT'S FUN TO STAY AT THE Y-M-C-A...

It's the morning after the night before which had four nurses having YMCA dance practice at fishfingerbutty towers. The 50th birthday / 70's fancy dress party is looming and as the host has put an unexpected proviso on us to perform a dance routine, we thought we'd better get some practice in. We also can't let our fans down...

So in preparation, what could be easier than downloading the video of YMCA by the Village People from the internet and onto a DVD? I tell you what's easier... finding a cure for cancer, solving third world debt and establishing why Peter Andre keeps getting record deals. With a late night plea for help from Download Dave, we were rockin and rolling on flatscreen and surround sound.

Cue the arrival of R, J and T down from Lancaster and the dance routines were kicked off in my lounge. After about 8 attempts, we established some kind of rhythm in our claps although I lost a ceiling light fitting. 14 attempts, and we had two dance steps co-ordinated. 35 attempts in and with wine and takeaway food coming into play, we started getting cocky with J and R introducing back dips, jumping high 5's, and a mincing walk. T, bless her, takes it far more seriously and is writing down all the moves and using a stopwatch to synchronise the moves, lyrics and steps like clockwork. After 47 attempts, more wine is consumed and the home cinema system is at breaking point after the dvd is on constant pause and rewind. At this point, I'm seriously considering restarting smoking or at best using recreational drugs, and then the inevitable happens...hysteria sets in. It started with R declaring she needed to go for a poo (It used to happen all the time to Michael Flatley during Riverdance)..

Our routine then took on all these mad improvisations including elements of morris dancing, Michael Jackson crotch-grabbing thrusts and rather alarmingly, lap dancing. T was busy scribbling away on her dance pad adding steps then crossing them out furiously if they didn't fit into the stopwatch slots. R, after her comfort break and no doubt 2lbs lighter, then decided to lie on her back and do the Y-M-C-A movements with her legs (mostly stuck on 'Y' we noticed). Anyway, this soon turned into a double act with J joining her on her floor in synchronised leg opening movements. Although reasonably innocent in intention, from mine and T's perspective on the sofa, it could only be described as a girl on girl Amsterdam sex show minus the ping pong balls (although I did notice a worrying number of maltesers on my carpet this morning). T was very earnestly stating 'no,no, no I'm sorry girls but it's just too crude' whilst manually bending R's legs back behind her ears. The four us, it has to be said, were laughing until we cried. Very, very funny.

So, after six hours of practice, we've got a routine consisting of uncoordinated side claps and hands in air movements during the lyrics to Y-M-C-A. R collapsed on my sofa and was falling asleep. T (aka Arlene Phillips) has got an A4 pad full of scribbled notes and dance steps. J has carpet burns on her backside which may take a bit of explaining, but her sphincter held up despite having two children and being nearly able to somersault whilst trampolining. I have aching ribs and backside muscles and a new found respect for all types of dancers having to learn numerous and intricate dance routines.

We practice again next week. I think there'll be spillage...

CAMPING IN MORECAMBE

I've been invited to a 50th birthday party and felt immediately queasy when I saw the words '70's theme fancy dress'. Fancy dress inspired parties do not rock my boat or give me the same amount of giggling pleasure as it seems to with most other people. I don't see the appeal of hiring wearing smelly clothes and wigs worn by many others and somewhere you'd never find me is by a sewing machine running up a flared blouse. My sewing kit consists of 3 needles and a black and white cotton reel.

I then have the added headache of never knowing what to dress up as. I've been on the internet looking for inspiration for influential female characters from the 70's. I've so far come up with Margaret Thatcher, Chris Evert, Nancy Spungen and Purdey from the Avengers. One of the girls has suggested the four of us (all nurses) go as the Village People. I suppose if you're going to look a prat, it may as well be done big style. So, four female respectable and professional nurses will be dressing up as stereotypical gay fantasy personas. I bagged the construction worker pretty much straight away as I already have a hard hat and caterpillar boots from my days at BT. The other girls are negotiating their roles between the Brokeback Mountain cowboy, George Michael's 'Outside' traffic cop, Minces with Wolves red Indian, or going commando. Somehow, I imagine the handlebar-moustached leather biker persona will be the hardest to fill. Especially with that much chest hair on show.

The party host has now got wind of our costume choices and has got all excited thinking we are going to do a full dance routine of Y-M-C-A in front of a watching audience of 80 party goers. She also mentioned a karaoke version and being filmed...

I think I'm going to be sick....