Stomping At The Savoy

He Goes:

Good lord, two days later and I'm still tired. Maybe it's my age, or maybe it's the after-effects of the Savoy Ball, where Spoon and me (along with approximately seven hundred other people) spent Saturday evening. By far the biggest swing event I've ever been to, I promised myself I would take it easy before I went, but the pull of three live bands and apparently limitless amounts of follows was enough to make me forget my resolution.

The bands were amazing, putting their own spin on some classic tunes - a fun proposition for a lead, since you can know roughly what's coming up but still have to work a little bit to fit your dance to the music.

Almost as if someone had planned it as a personal antidote to my habit of dancing myself into a swampy ruin, there was also a frankly astounding cabaret from the Attic Cats and a French performance group (whose name I'm afraid to admit I have no idea of) which kept the brain going while the body rested. Existing words and phrases aren't enough to describe the first time you see in the flesh four couples doing a synchronised lamp-post, or someone doing a coochie-toss, and I am forced to resort to a portmanteau: Amazapressing - the state of being simultaneously amazed at a dancer and depressed that you'll never be able to do what they're doing.

I don't know if there's something a bit wrong with me (there's an article with no word-limit - imaginary editor), but I'm always too nervous to get excited about such things beforehand. All of my brain is taken up with the boring administration of how will we get there, how will we get back. I was the same before the Savoy Ball. Contrast with Spoon:

How can you not love that level of enthusiasm?

The thing I love about dancing, though, is that all of that is unimportant when you get where you're going. There's music. There's the floor. There's your partner. The ball was as simple as that, only more so: More music, more floor, more partners! Yep, said the worrying part of my brain the minute I walked into the venue: you know what to do here, just get on with enjoying yourself.

...and I did.

She Goes:

Sorry for the delay in posting this week, I've been having dancegasms all weekend!

The ball though... *sigh*...It really was awesome. I wish I'd danced more and drank more wine- although I worked pretty hard at most of those things throughout the night!

I rather enjoyed the compliments for how well I scrubbed up. Although there is an undercurrent of concern at the note of surprise in those voices who were so flattering!

The Attic Cats were smashing, and we all screamed ourselves hoarse whilest they were performing (well I certainly was!) Having two good friends in the troupe made it all the more special. I had a small insight into how hard they'd been busting their chops for it- and I was- am!- so proud of them. (Aw, you guys!)

The French Grenoble Swing Team (you're welcome, Keith) were sultry and fab and terribly, well, French! There was not an eyebrow unraised by the end their performances... For many good reasons. Most of them being well encased in red cloth... *wink* (find the footage online somewhere!)

As for me? I didn't dance myself into a sweaty mess because a) post-injury I'm a lot more disciplined at pacing myself, b) I had a fabulously glam cloche hat on that I would have caught fire in and/or melted in and c) THERE ARE NEVER ENOUGH LEADS AT THESE THINGS!! I mean, woah there, I had a lot of dances, but I actually heard leads having a good-natured whine about not being able to leave the dance floor!!

It was a cracking night though, and much praise is due to the organiser who brought all the threads together.

See you there next year?