Melissa Kite Melissa Kite

Real life | 1 January 2011

‘Stop leading!’ said the poor man trying to dance with me as I dragged him around the floor.

issue 01 January 2011

‘Stop leading!’ said the poor man trying to dance with me as I dragged him around the floor.

‘Stop leading!’ said the poor man trying to dance with me as I dragged him around the floor.

‘I can’t help it,’ I said, pushing him under my arm and forcing him to perform a series of impromptu pirouettes, ‘you keep going wrong.’

‘That’s not the point,’ he gasped, as I half strangled him in a headlock. ‘I’m meant to lead. You follow.’ Follow, shmollow.

I had been taken to a Ceroc dance class in the genteel confines of Esher civic hall by my friend Amanda, a devotee of the pastime, who told me it was just what I needed to put a smile on my face. I agreed to go on the basis that trying new things is a good way to start the New Year. A few minutes into my first lesson I wasn’t so sure.

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