Lindy hop and you don't stop

So I went Lindy hopping with K and G (both in witness relocation programmes, so initials only) the other night in the 100 Club. My first time, don't you know. It started out with a sort of practice session which they showed us some basic steps. Basic being a relative term as I thought they were really complicated. K, who is into the Lindy scene and is rather good, said we were starting on a rather difficult week.

To be frank, I was not the best Lindy hopper, which would surprise anyone who has ever seen me move with my panther-like grace. Couldn't really get the steps right. Early on in the night, this girl asked me to dance and though I told her I was a bit rubbish, she didn't believe me. A few moments and her face went from amusement at my ineptitude to a sort of scrunched up exasperation. 'Why don't we just freestyle,' she said grumpily after a minute or two. And then looked around for someone else, anyone else, to dance with.

But it was really fun and I'll go again. I got a tad better as the night wore on, helped by K selflessly allowing me to trod on her toes and throw her around.

I've always liked the music; it is not too far removed from the Americana, blues, folk stuff that I listen to a lot. And, man, you get to wear cool clothes (see above). Yeah, I'd look great in a skirt like that.

In fact I grew up on the music. My parents are from that era and danced to this stuff when it was first out. I had this odd moment on Lindy night as the band did a song which was on an Andrews Sisters album my mother used to play over and over. And suddenly I was back in my parents' den listening to it on this old 1940s record player they still used (it was wooden, painted maroon, and massive, had these big dials for the tuner and volume that glowed amber when you turned them). And this is what I listened to until I could buy music myself while all my friends were listening to Kiss - Tommy Dorsey, Cab Calloway, Gene Krupa. I can still see those album covers and remember the smell; my mother had stored them for some years at my grandmother's and they still smelled faintly of her house, this odd, but not unpleasant mix of lilacs and Pall Malls.

Also quite funny that this kind of thriving sub rosa Lindy scene exists. Although I suppose it is London and you can find all sorts. That traditional Samoan midget clog dancing you always wanted to get into? I think it's on a Tuesday at the Brixton Hootenanny.