Dj Sixth Sense

Hoping against hope that I can dance out of my corner

I RECEIVED a gentle reminder at the weekend that we have a wedding to attend in August. It was one of those out-of-the-blue memory joggers that the other halves tend to drop on you just as you've settled in nicely for the second-half of a match on the telly. In my case the news arrived at half-time in the Tipperary v. Clare hurling clash in Limerick.

The very mention of an impending wedding fills me with dread and terror. It's not this wedding in particular; in fact, I'm looking forward to seeing my good friends Kevin and Orla finally tying the knot. It feels like they announced their date back around 1987 but they tell me it's only 18 months ago.

No, the dread and terror has arrived due to one aspect of the wedding from which I know there is no escape. It is an activity that takes place at every wedding, party, shindig and hula in the world and for the past decade it has never failed to fill me with a sense of hurt and loss. It is the awful carry-on that is dancing.

Dancing is a sport (sort of) and it was as a sport that I first really encountered it.

When myself and my good friend at the time, Pat Foley, enrolled in the local Irish Dancing classes my story really began.

For weeks we knuckled down and learnt the moves, the twirling, the toe-stepping, the rigid upper body posture, and with the constant encouragement and support from our mentors we began to feel like we really had something here.

Not even the sympathetic bronze medal for being the only two males from the village who chose to make utter fools of themselves at a public display could change our minds about our blossoming talent.

There is a lesson here for all parents and teachers. Never mislead a youngster into thinking that he is better than he actually is. Looking back now I would have dearly loved some kind soul to tell me, 'listen son, you have as much rhythm as a fire extinguisher'.

At least then, after the tears and the pain, I could have concentrated on something that I was good at and not squandered a lifetime of weekends gyrating like a fool on the dance floors of west Wicklow.

Once I began secondary school my flirtation with our native dancing was well and truly over for many reasons, but most of them related to personal safety. It was now around the start of the 1990s and a powerful force was starting to take over the world and that was dance music.

Like all teenage boys I became a regular at local discos. For a time Jacob's bar in Knockananna held their own weekly discos that brought hundreds of people from miles around.

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