I’ve never been able to waltz. To be fair, I’ve never been much cop at dancing of any variety (save for that time when I had about 2 hours of Ceroc tuition and quite enjoyed it but never went back) – I can just about manage the Awkward Indie Shuffle (hold your pint, stare at your feet and shuffle vaguely in time with the music) or the Pop-Punk Pogo (jump) but that’s about it. But out of all of the dances I’ve ever been forced to try, the waltz is the one that causes me most trouble – I just can’t get two feet to go into three beats: if God had meant us to Waltz, he’d have given us a third leg.

However. On Friday night, I had a dream. And in that dream, for reasons best known to my subconcious mind, it was absolutely imperative that I learned to waltz: my very existence depended on me succesfully waltzing. So off I went to a dreamland dance instructor (who was probably the recreation of some terrifying childhood authority figure or something) and they taught me to waltz. And they really did: by the end of the dream, I was moving elegantly across the dancefloor to irritatingly twee Mozart and humanity was saved.

Sadly, it seems that dreams to not bridge to reality quite so easily. On saturday morning I awoke and thought back on the dream and wondered to myself, “Can I remember how to waltz now, in my waking state?”. So, alone in the bathroom I struck up an orchestra in my mind – and waltzed straight into the bath, tripping over my two left feet and feeling quite foolish.

Ah well. Looks like it’s back to the Awkward Indie Shuffle, then.

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