Quote, End Quote.

I jumped around in time with the music, bobbing up and down to some unknown heavy rock tune that I wasn't cool enough to know the lyrics to. It was awkward. There were many dreadlocks and mohawks and split ends and sweetie. That just 'aint me.



"We need some Cheryl!" shouted Calum's boyfriend, as he tried to headbang whilst keeping his carefully styled hair in place.

He sort of threw his head down, and then put his hands to his forehead on the way back up and looked around self-consciously. We'd make eye-conatct, laugh, and then he'd do it again. Repeat, repeat, repeat.



I was beside myself, then, when a song I vaguely recognised came on- I was all over it. "THIS MY SONG!" I cried.



There was some changing of the lightbulbs, Internet, and feeding of the chickens. You know the stuff- shuffling here, spinning there. I won't lie. There was also some shopping trolley action (which, having tried to illustrate by way of YouTube I stumbled across this gem. You're welcome.) At one point there was actual acting out of said song lyrics with hand gestures and facial expressions and walking around the crowded dancefloor like I was bloody GaGa, all directed at my most musical gay friend who totally got where I was coming from i.e. Jason and Kylie. I had a marvelous time. So marvelous, in fact, that after 45 minutes of intense musical performance I needed a moment outside to cool down.



I sat down with a bemused friend in front of a boarded up shop, my bum on the cool tarmac and the night air assaulting my face. I noticed that even my forearms were sweating. Phew.



"So," she said, looking at me sadly. "I see that you're not on the pull tonight then."



I can't imagine what she meant.



No. Really.