Dance Like It’s 1991

Anniki Sommerville - 19 Feb 16

I started going to clubs when I was fourteen. My friend Amy and I would go to this tiny club on Hanover Street called ‘Prohibition.’  I feel ancient when I walk past now because it’s been turned into a Costa. I clearly remember the butterflies I’d get as we walked towards the entrance (secretly rehearsing our fictional dates of birth so we could get past the bouncer).

In the 90s I got into dance music. I joined a band. I ended up (because there was no one else available) becoming the singer. I like to think I was a good dancer back then. To be completely honest I don’t remember. Let’s just say I’m thankful that social media didn’t exist and there’s not much evidence of those days.

The point is I was confident. Once inside a club, I knew roughly what to do. In fact I wasn’t even thinking about ‘what I needed to do’ because I just shut the world out and got into it. I miss those days. It was good therapy to switch off.

Many years ago I went to a jungle night. I was really worried about the dancing side of things. The beat was so fast and there was a lot of potential for things to go VERY wrong. I stood on the sidelines for forty minutes before I attempted my moves. Luckily it seemed to be acceptable if you danced very slowly. I tried it out and nobody laughed.

Fast forward to the present day and I haven’t been clubbing in YEARS. Is it acceptable for someone in their forties to TWERK? What do you do? A friend and I went to a local club (the days of all nighters in central London are well and truly over). It was mainly parents. Everyone was behaving in a mad, slightly frantic manner. The music was very loud. My eyes were sleepy and I kept thinking about how comfy my bed was. I was also thinking about how I’d have to get up in four hours and watch Peppa Pig with a small person shrieking by my side. Eventually I threw caution to the wind and entered the sacred dancing zone . I closed my eyes. I stepped from side to side. I did it again. I looked around. No one was laughing but there was something oddly familiar about the way I was moving. I stepped from side to side again. I looked down at my feet and tried to swing my arms. I was thinking about how much sleep I was missing out on and how the skirt I had on did nothing for my Mum-belly. The feeling came over me again. I KNEW what was happening. I WAS DANCING LIKE MY MUM!

I sat the next song out and tried to think of an excuse to leave. My friend ran over breathless and excited. She has two small kids and rarely gets a night out. She was acting like we were backstage at Take That.

‘I’m dancing like my Mum,’ I said flatly.

‘Everyone is! Who gives a shit!?’ she shouted and beckoned me to join her.

I looked around. I hadn’t really noticed anyone else because I’d been so preoccupied. She was right! Some women in the corner were actually doing the TWIST! One was trying out the ‘running man’ whilst another small group were doing a shoulder roll that I’d last seen in a Janet Jackson video. A guy in his forties was attempting the ‘caterpillar’ but grimaced as he got half way across the floor and limped to the bar ( a nasty case of sciatica perhaps?)

It hit me. When you get to my age it doesn’t matter. Nobody gives a fig. If you’re still worrying about how you dance then…well you’re a bit sad.  The pressure is off.

Get the old moves out. We’re not competing. We’re not judging. Forget Peppa Pig. Forget the dawn chorus. Forget pasta pesto being tossed in your face.

Close your eyes. We’re young, free and sexy and it’s 1991.

Anniki Sommerville

I'm Super Editor here at SelfishMother.com and love reading all your fantastic posts and mulling over all the complexities of modern parenting. We have a fantastic and supportive community of writers here and I've learnt just how transformative and therapeutic writing can me. If you've had a bad day then write about it. If you've had a good day- do the same! You'll feel better just airing your thoughts and realising that no one has a master plan. I'm Mum to a daughter who's 3 and my passions are writing, reading and doing yoga (I love saying that but to be honest I'm no yogi).

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