Tonight there were more blondes than would be normal in this unfashionable part of town and they all climbed with difficulty over the dog to get to the bar. It was blues at a weight watcher’s convention. The two hundred year old floor groaned in protest. The beer was pleasantly warm and the freezing air flowed in through the rustic architecture. Wattle and daub was not designed for these decibels. The special lighting effects did not venture much beyond on and off.
In retrospect, there were no fights and not much beer thrown. They danced in a space where dancing had hitherto thought to be impossible. Full marks for effort and the dog managed to survive – no limbs were lost. There was a moment when a dancer trod on his tail and an incident look probable, but the effort proved to much.