Today
I just love to watch Strictly Come Dancing and slightly regret that, despite having learnt ballroom dancing as a teenager, I didn't live at a time when this was the norm. Disco dancing and the like had become the way of dancing in the 60's and, quite honestly, most people just jiggled around without form or rhythm.
One of this week's contestants was Lesley Joseph, who celebrated her 71st birthday while on the show. Now, Lesley is pretty raddled and looks her age, but she danced the Charleston with such verve, style and rhythm that it was a joy. "I love the Charleston, " she said "and I've waited all my life to dance it!"
In My Day
Paul's Mum, of course, was young at a time when people could actually dance; when a dashing young man would ask for your hand and whirl you off into a foxtrot, waltz or quickstep. And there were plenty of dashing young men in Mum's life.
Her eyes would sparkle as she told us how she and her sister, Joyce, would knock 'em dead at various events. "Of course, it was Joyce all the men were after." she'd say, undervaluing how alluring her ready for anything, joyous quality was.
She would whirl and twirl telling us all this. She remembered her ballet lesson and talked about (and demonstrated) plies and rises and the first five positions to the novice Becky. Her eyes would mist as she recalled how her mother scraped up the money out of paltry wages to afford ballet shoes and classes and spotless white socks.
But it was the Charleston that she loved best. She was a teenager by the mid 1920's and just loved to escape from the oppressive strait-laced atmosphere of her aunt's home for the joy of short skirts and crazy nights out. She had good legs and lovely figure and she knew it; and the crazy heel-kicks and cheeky rhythms were right up her street.
I have never had good looks, legs, or dancing ability like Mum's and am slightly in awe of the fact that she was still able to give us some Charleston high kicks when she was nearly 90.
Go for it, Lesley, you're never too old!
Today
Part of the development of Carmen's life is partying, with a Hallowe'en party in the offing right now. I've noticed these days that the parents of guest children have a way of staying during parties. Whether that adds to or detracts from the stress, I couldn't say.
In My Day
Back in the day, the drill seemed to be that you dropped off child and pressie and buzzed back about two hours later, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed, to collect your sticky, overtired offspring from a hostess who was able to give you a glassy smile before going into private meltdown.
Giving parties required a deal of meticulous planning unless you were wealthy enough to hand the whole thing over to a children's entertainer or hire a venue. Firstly, just the guest list was a social minefield. Family members were easy enough, but it was quite possible that the child who was your daughter's best friend at the time of the invitation, was her mortal enemy by the time the party came round. There were children who, although very friendly with your child elsewhere, were so shy that they simply hid under the table and refused to participate in anything. Should you drag them out? Coax them? Give them some Smarties and leave them alone?
For the party to be a success there had to be a continuous stream of entertainment. Pause for a moment and you were in danger of mayhem, and, unless you were an experienced primary school teacher, you'd never restore order.
Coming to your aid were the games everyone expected to play. Pass the parcel, musical statues, oranges and lemons, pin the tail etc. If it was summer time it was all easier as races would help to let off steam and food could be served out of doors which was much less stressful.
Little moments stick in my mind: The party where I plated up the food for each child and noticed one little girl, who'd been taught to eat everything on her plate, trying to stuff it all in, until I rescued her.
A party for Jacob on a day the week before his birthday, which we dubbed an "unbirthday" and did all the games in reverse (wrap the parcel, unpin the tail, slow racing etc).
Alice wearing a cardboard box (devised by Matthew, her older brother) to be a robot, and falling over while trying to navigate downhill in Mead Close and arriving screaming and covered in blood.
What they all had in common was how long those two hours used to feel. Maybe having the parents there isn't such a bad idea, even if they do drink up all your wine.
I just love to watch Strictly Come Dancing and slightly regret that, despite having learnt ballroom dancing as a teenager, I didn't live at a time when this was the norm. Disco dancing and the like had become the way of dancing in the 60's and, quite honestly, most people just jiggled around without form or rhythm.
