In the spirit of the Olympics, I thought I'd talk about the only sport I ever do, dancing, albeit in a club after a few rounds of drinks, it's about as sporty as I get. I love dancing. The only condition to this is it has to be dark. I'm painfully self conscious dancing around in daylight, but as soon as I walk into a club, have a drink and hear a good song, I'm like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever (but female obviously). This love of clubbing has got me in trouble more than once. Like the time a fellow clubber stepped on my little toe with her stiletto, dislocating it and I wish I could remember the number of times I'd fallen on my ass in the middle of the dance floor.
The worst scrape I've ever got myself into in a club happened at Heaven, a gay club near the Embankment. Now, I realise I talk a lot about gay clubs, and I'll admit, I went through a stage of going to gay clubs quite a lot, to satiate my inner dancer, as no one cares what you look like dancing in there. Needless to say, this was the last time I went to a gay club.
It was a normal girls (and gays) night out at the beginning of the night, false eye lashes precariously glued on, stinking of fake tan and hairspray and caked in make up, and that was just the guys. We negotiated the doormen (by pretending we were lesbians) and walked into the sweaty club, the music was pulsating, drinks were flowing and I could feel my twinkle toes tingling ready to take the stage. After about an hour of tearing up the dance floor (!) we decided to join the more flamboyant dancers on the stage. Myself and a friend started to climb the stairs up to the platform, the lure of the dancing spotlight calling. A little too late I heard my friend warn me about a hole in the stairs. I felt my left leg slip easily through the hole and the weight of the stage with 30 or forty people on it, bear heavily down on my leg and my ass landed with a thud on the floor. The indignity of this situation was beyond awful, and was perpetuated by the kind, but skinny, men who tried, unsuccessfully, to pull me out of the hole. Unfortunately, a lack of upper body strength on their part, and an unwillingness on my part for them to pull a muscle meant that I was stuck there for at least 5 minutes.
The affect of this fall wasn't felt until later in the night, walking home from the night bus, my leg felt funny. I ignored it, figuring it was my shoes causing me pain. A few weeks later, I was informed that the fall had burst a disc in my back, I was on crutches for around 6 weeks. Now, crutches are probably the most useful medical aids I have ever acquired. Without a word of a lie, I will tell you that they have twice got me upgraded on flights abroad, and I would recommend anyone purchase at least one, for long haul flights if they can't afford the business class ticket, crutches are definitely cheaper and a long term investment.
During this time, I had been interviewing at a company for 3 months. I was a graduate, in one of the worst recessions the world had ever seen and I was desperate for a job, not to mention the company was fantastic. I'd had 14 interviews and had pretty much been told I had it in the bag. I was with a friend in Primark, when I got a call from the recruiter from the company, the call I had been waiting for for two weeks. I adjusted myself on my crutches and discarded the cheap polyester tat I had been tempted to waste money on and hobbled out of the shop to take the call. It was bad news, the headcount had been cut, and they were unsure when the next opening would come about, but they'd be in touch. I called my dad in floods of tears, and he told me he'd meet me outside the Churchill hotel and drive me home. I got to the hotel and slumped on the floor, mascara running down my face, my crutches strewn on the pavement. A kind American lady crouched down next to me and asked me if I was ok. I said 'not really if I'm totally honest', and she said 'Do you need some money'.. I looked up and she was offering up two crisp £20 notes. Now, I wouldn't normally accept money from a stranger, but, I was unemployed, frustrated and quite frankly, at the time, it seemed like a great idea. I gratefully accepted her gift, and carried on sobbing until my dad came to pick me up.
It was only then it occurred to me, the lady had given me money because of my crutches, the crutches had been purchased because of my misguided dreams of dancing prowess had gone very wrong, I had therefore, inadvertently just been paid for my first dancing job.
I used this realisation to think about my career options quite carefully. I decided it was too painful to pursue a career as a dancer, I would have to injure myself and hope to find a sympathetic soul to make any money, as I am a crap dancer really. I decided I was definitely too proud to continue my fledgling career as a begger (although I went back and purchased the polyester tat I had earlier discarded with the lady's gift), so went to work in retail instead- but that is another story.
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