Nell Frizzell is taking a look at all those moves she would throw on stage/at people and how those moves would pan out, life-wise. Recognise any?
We know that dancing is supposed to be the vertical trailer to the horizontal main feature. It's a way to show someone your moves before showing them your moves. It's how adults get sweaty and close to see if they want to get sweatier and closer.
But, seriously? The way I dance? Not a hope in hell.
When I go out dancing I like to hit the ground running. Quite literally. I did the running man, on stage, totally alone, at my 21st birthday party. I did not get laid at my 21st birthday party (although one friend kindly gave me a 10 inch salami from the German Christmas Market with a wink). Nothing softens my shoulders and fills me up with joy like a night of sweaty, undignified gyrating.
And there is nothing remotely sexy about any of it.
So, here are my 10 moves that are guaranteed to never get you laid...
The Leg Guitar
This is a solid gold classic. I don't even particularly like guitar music (okay, that's a ridiculous thing to say. But, on the whole, I'd rather shake my money maker to synths than strings). But boy oh boy, once the wind takes me, I can finger my own thigh like Slash guitarsturbating outside a church in the November Rain video. This has the dual benefit of not only drawing everyone's attention to the frightening muscles of my cyclist legs, but also gives me a superb opportunity to show off my ‘guitar solo' face.
At weddings, amp things up a notch my combining The Leg Guitar with a little hop across the stage so you look like Francis Rossi of Status Quo. Chicks and dudes totally dig that.
The Air Punch
I quite like to combine The Air Punch with The Heart Clasp. In my head it's pure power ballad Eva Peron; on the dancefloor it is pure lesbian Freddie Mercury. The other slightly unsexy thing about The Air Punch is quite how often it results in physically assaulting a stranger. Still, at least it means I get to say “I'm so sorry about my flesh missiles!” to someone before they walk out of my life forever.
I hate myself for saying this, because it is one of the greatest moves in the disco lexicon, but finger guns probably aren't the way forward if you want to get fingered. Or, you know, have a meaningful adult rela-bla bla bla. Saying that, if you're good-looking, confident or funny enough to pull of mime-shooting a stranger in the face across a room of sweaty throbbing masses, then go for it pal. It might come across a little bit Robert DeNiro in Taxi Driver. But on the other hand, it might come across a bit Henry Fonda in Once Upon A Time In The West.
I often get so overwhelmed by the spirit of music that the only response is to thrust one leg forward, the other leg back and my crotch towards the floor. This isn't sexy in trousers and this is unsexy and logistically complicated in a skirt. Combine it with a bicep curl or an air punch and, my friends, you've got yourself a situation.
The Jump Around
As my friend Andy put it, “No man has ever pulled a woman while jumping around to Jump Around”. He's quite right, lads. If you are so desperate to squeeze your sweating, palpating body as close as physically possible to a ring of male friends and acquaintances then that's just lovely. But keep it to mosh pits, sports showers and Romanesque baths, eh?
The Funky Chicken
Mick Jagger managed it. I cannot. Even the name makes me want to fold my buttocks inside out. You see, much as I love an early rock n' roll number - the sort of song that orders you to do the mashed potato, the alligator, the twist, the monkey and any number of other archane village hall moves - I think we can all agree that squatting in the middle of a dance floor before shuffling about with your neck whipping back and forth like an air hostess experiencing cabin pressure failure probably isn't going to get you laid.
Do it anyway. It feels brilliant.
The Foot Pump
You know the one. Where you grab your foot behind you, up under your bum, and pump your knee like a piston? If things are going particularly well you can throw in a waving arm and facial expression probably best described as ‘alarming', too. It's a bloody winner and I can thoroughly recommend it. As long as you never plan on touching your mouth against anyone else's body ever again.
Oh sure. I've seen Pulp Fiction. I know the score. It's self-consciously silly and sexy and old-time hip and intense. Except, when I do it, I do not look like Uma Thurman sex-psyching out Travolta to the strains of Chuck Berry. I look like David Lynch wiping off some snot. I look the third Chuckle Brother. I look lost.
Kneesliding across an empty dancefloor may be as close as I've ever come to seeing the face of God. I felt euphoric. I felt like a hero. I felt warrior-like, full of vigour, joyful and like a devotee of Bacchus.
I also tore my tights, made a really loud squeaking noise as my bleeding knee screamed across the floor, only really got about a metre and a half and then went home, alone, to eat peanut butter on toast and drink some peppermint tea.