Cha cha cha near the beach

I used to loathe dancing. I was one of those people who stands in the corner looking awkward, refusing to join the dance floor. However, in a moment of daring I tried Latin American dancing and not that long after I found myself travelling one Sunday morning to the south coast for my first competition.

The day got off to a bad start. I arrived at the Hove Dance Centre with relative ease, rather smug at having successfully negotiated National Rail’s replacement bus service. But as soon as I arrived I started to notice that something was not quite right. The building was very small, its door was locked, the lights were off, and the only sound I could hear was that of seagulls -- there was evidently no dance competition here. After a few frantic phone calls I ascertained that yes, I had got the right date, but no I wasn’t at the right place; I was meant to be at the town hall over 2 miles away. When I finally arrived, I knew I’d made it. Women in blindingly-bright sequined dresses and thick layers of makeup were rehearsing their moves in the lobby. I panicked. Not only did they look terrifyingly good at dancing, but I also realised that I was both under and over dressed for the occasion; underdressed because I hadn’t stuck sequined jewellery on my forehead or greased back my hair, and overdressed because I was obviously wearing far too many square inches of clothing. I was then issued with a marathon-style number to put on my back and from then onwards I was just ‘96’.

When it was time to dance all my apprehension vanished. As the music started playing I was transported to Brazil and I remembered how much I loved this type of dancing. Samba is a ‘progressive’ dance which means that you describe a circular shape around the room as you dance. Rather inevitably as we (my teacher and I) ‘progressed’ in front one of the adjudicators, my routine ‘progressed’ out of my brain causing me to come to a rather embarrassing halt. Needless to say I did not get through to the next round. However, spirits remained high since the ‘pairs’ event was yet to take place. I had been paired last minute with a charming Parisian whom I was to Cha cha cha with. Seeing that the individual events were taking some time, I took the opportunity to take a stroll along the seaside and get something to eat. Hove looked beautiful, bathed in the first sunshine of the summer. Too beautiful perhaps, as on my return it emerged that I had embarrassingly missed the pair event, my final chance to dance. I set off for home, dejected but convinced I should redeem myself at another competition.

Was the whole day worth it just for two minutes of dancing? Definitely. It was great to see so many dancers of so many ages enjoying themselves (there was a whole section for 50 plus age group), and I picked up some tips about how I should dress. I also saw dancing of the highest standard which was truly incredible. I certainly no longer have any inhibitions on the dance floor. That is, when I make it there on time.

For schedules of classes and competitions http://www.hovedancecentre.co.uk