In answer to the comments of my last post, here is a Joyce Grenfell song which sums up our group nicely. As yet we have no gentlemen. The Rev. is already a fairly good dancer, as well as swimmer,runner, triathlete….. I have to keep up despite being 7 years older than him! Those 7 years do make a difference too, I shall be glad when he gets to 50 later this year. Actually having to cycle to the dance class makes me get out , I did ,however, stupidly say that I would go out with him on some pastoral visits this week,especially as he promised me lunch out. It transpired that he was going to a village 12 1/2 miles away, which doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that’s 25 miles of peddling.
Now on the flat that is fine ,but in the car I had never noticed the hills! The Rev. went off in front to do his visits, and I said that I would catch him up at the pub. Oh MY! This village is on a peninsula of land which has a deep glen and two large Lochs, I cycled around bends, crawled up hills that had my muscles screaming, and still no sign of the place, at one point I could have sat down on the side of the road and cried with self pity! The beautiful sight of Tayvallich when I got around the final bend was worth it. The boats in the bay, the sun shining and there was a dear friend standing on the jetty looking out to sea who was full of encouragement but very surprised to see me there. I managed to see quite a few parishioners who lived there ,while waiting for the Rev. ,one lady who is over 80 and who kayaks, dances and does yoga, assured me that once I had scaled the Glen on the return journey, I would be fine. We all had a lovely lunch together, and I made it back in an hour and forty minutes.Next day I had some stiff muscles but a sense of acheivement. The Rev. said I would get a prize if I beat him home, I did by 10 minutes, but no prize, he said I’d have to have him as the gift, suppose it’s not too bad……
My neighbour, Mrs Fanshaw, is portly-plump and gay.
She must be over sixty-seven if she is a day.
You might have thought her life was dull. It’s one long whirl instead.
I asked her all about it, and this is what she said:
I’ve joined an Old Time Dance Club. the trouble is that there
Are too many ladies over, and no gentlemen to spare.
It seems a shame; it’s not the same, but still it has to be:
Some ladies have to dance together. One of them is me.
Stately as a galleon I sail across the floor,
Doing the Military Two-step as in the days of yore.
I dance with Mrs Tiverton. She’s light on her feet, in spite
Of turning the scale at fourteen stone, and being of medium height.
So gay the band, so giddy the sight, full evening dress is a must,
But the zest goes out of a beautiful waltz when you dance it bust to bust.
So, stately as two galleons, we sail across the floor,
Doing the Valse Valeta as in the days of yore.
The gent is Mrs Tiverton. I am her lady fair.
She bows to me ever so nicely and I curtsey to her with care.
So gay the band, so giddy the sight, but it’s not the same in the end,
For a lady is never a gentleman, though she may be your bosom friend.
So, stately as a galleon, I sail across the floor,
Doing the dear old Lancers, as in the days of yore.
I’m led by Mrs Tiverton. She swings me round and round,
And though she manoeuvres me wonderfully well, I never get off the ground.
So gay the band, so giddy the sight, I try not to get depressed;
And it’s done me a power of good to explode, and get this lot off my chest.