It’s been some time. The conditions have not been right. There was always somewhere else to be, someone to talk to, the wrong shoes, the wrong floor, the music did not have the requisite level of funk. But now the planets are aligned. A seven-piece brass band called Brass Roots is playing OutKast and I gots me some rubber soles. Someone has thoughtfully spilt a pint on the floor, making it all ‘James-Brown-slidey’. That’s right punk, I’m dancing.
It’s a primeval instinct. Images of humans waggling their bottoms and waving their arms have been depicted in cave paintings that are 11000 years old, but dance goes much further back than that. No one knows exactly when humans first started dancing. Unlike painting or other forms of cultural expression it doesn’t leave any trace. There are no fossilised remains of discarded high heels or clusters of handbags.
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