I’ve been through many phases in my love-hate relationship with dance. Watching the dance floor at Daphni jogged my thinking. In early years it was a cissy thing for boys; ballroom dancing classes in my teens with Sally Rose in the Methodist Hall destroyed my confidence - she was a sturdy farmer’s daughter, older than me, much taller and quite well developed if I remember correctly through my steamed up glasses. I had two right feet and my eyes were level with her ample 36 DD breasts. Leading her around the columns in the Hall was worse than avoiding dodgems.