Back in the day when I had hair, a 28-inch waist, pegged black trousers and a white sport coat, I loved to jive.
Littlehampton’s Top Hat, the Badminton, the Cairo Club and Saturday night village halls all resounding to the mighty rock ‘n’ roll and, of course, the occasional cheek to cheek.
Now, many years later, waistline considerably expanded, hairline much receded, I fancied a trip back to yesterday.
Colin Tenn, founder of Brighton Jive was giving classes in Worthing so with a trio of like-minded friends, I enrolled for the six weekly sessions at a tenner a pop. Most of it quickly came back, bit like riding a bike really.
I realise of course, that generally we old grey rockers might look a little foolish to the young untutored eye, but heck, it was great fun then and still is.
We four do not intend to let any more years roll by us without a rock or two.
If you are an old rocker and still a bit limber I suggest you look up Brighton Jive on Facebook.
Colin is an excellent and very patient tutor, and I did spot a defibrillator on the venue wall.
I have contracted alliterationitis.
Since giving up my allotment I have concentrated my efforts on making my own garden a place of delight.
Aimlessly pottering around, my mind, a near blank, wanders to alliterations and once started you cannot stop.
It’s like getting out of bed in the morning, immediately latching on to a song and spending the rest of the day trying to forget it.
That is very much like alliterationitis.
Once the idea has entered your head you just cannot rid yourself of it even going to the extent of improving on sayings that are already in the familiar lexicon of sayings.
I went to talk to my GP about it and she advised that I energise, exercise, empathise and existentialise.
I urge you not to try this at home...