Dancing in the street

Last month Mrs Mobilephone organised a reunion for the members of the now defunct Sandgate Women's Clog Morris team. The team was established for the Queen's Jubliee and had it's last dance out 10 years ago. Lack of members in both Sandgate and Tyne Bridge saw the teams fold into each other to form the current Tyne Bridge Morris in the mid 1990s. (I had tiny children at the time so had stopped dancing with Sandgate. However when Number Two Son turned three I joined the new Tyne Bridge. It was that or succumb to cabin fever and infanticide, homicide or suicide. )

Mrs Mobilephone has a lovely home and loves organising 'bring and share' suppers. For many years she and her late husband have been avid photographers and videoers (?) so the old tapes were dug out and played. One was of Sandgate dancing at the 1993 Tall Ships Race - about six months after I was widowed. As well as recording us dancing on the stage someone had videoed us milling around afterwards. Looking at the group I saw a shapely woman with long, dark wavy hair and thought "My she's pretty - I don't remember her". Then she turned around and, to my surprise, it was me!

Whoever was doing the recording had obviously upset me in some way because I looked them up and down in a way which asked "And whose shoe were you scraped off?" I have no recollection who it was or why I so obviously despised them. But the footage tickled the assembled party so much it was rewound and replayed half a dozen times. (I've requested a copy in mpg format to email to friends!)

Now bear in mind when you read the following that Sandgate formed in 1977, so some of the ladies present were approaching or had reached retirement. Many are or were at senior levels in their profession - or at least responsible ones. None were drunk (even those who had drink taken).

In the early evening nostalgia really struck and people started wishing they could dance again just one more time.

It was suggested we give Mobberley a go.

But where? There was nowhere suitable in the house or garden.

"Well why not out in the street?" says someone "It's a very quiet road."

Instead of sticks we had a balloon each (from a previous party). Drummerman made do with a washing-up-bowl and a large wooden spoon. Those of us who remembered the tune dah-dah-ed Portsmouth. Considering the number of years since some of us had practiced it really wasn't a bad performance. And we did complete the dance all the way through.

So if one sunny evening in July your car was held up in a Heaton back street by a ragged formation of eight ladies of a certain age wielding balloons, our apologies.

But there are times when old girls have got to do what old girls have got to do.

Sometimes, though, I do wonder whether I'm living in a Posy Simmons cartoon.

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