Monday, April 17, 2006

Indie kids can't dance

So, on the night before Good Friday, I found myself in some uber club-slash-rave thing my friend Sambo took me to with a gaggle of her mates. The last time I went to anything vaguely resembling this was in 1997. And my dancing style hasn't evolved much since the "two stomps forward and two stomps back" meets "hands chopping wildly akimbo above my head, to the side, down low, and culminating in great whirling looping loop-to-loops" moves studiously cultivated in my living room before Happy Mondays' music videos when I was 14. So whether it's harking back to 1997 or 1989, I was totally retroid on all six dancefloors, cemented more so by the white and fluorescent green print Excellent! Party Time! tee I bought especially for the occasion.

After a good seven or so hours of this, at 6.30 am, some guy, looking rather dubiously like a Guru Josh "Infinity" flashback in his floppy fisherman's hat and sunglasses, sidled up to me, hurled a bottle of water into one of my chop-chopping loop-to-loop hands, and exclaimed gleefully into my ear:

"Oi! You remind me of Ibiza!!!"

Which, from what I know about the dodgy Spanish clubbing resort, is rather like being told:

"Oi! You remind me of Schoolies' Week!!!"

Still, I kept on stomping and flailing until we were all kicked out into the morning sun an hour later.

At least I wasn't packing a whistle. Or a chupa chup.



At 12:02 PM, Blogger flotiz said...

oh deary me... we were ahead of our times and now reflections in the rear-view mirrors of our youth.

manchester, chunky bass and reflective-roadworker jackets.... ah.


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