John is in his 70s.
He looks like Al Capone, resplendent with fedora, black and white from head to toe, including those unmistakeable shoes. He’s no gangster. He would look equally at home standing on a rooftop covered in soot.
He’s been dancing again.
He dances 2-3 times per week.
It’s one of the reasons he doesn’t look a year over 60 - that, and he’s someone that doesn’t drink alcohol.
I’m trying to change the world, but John has my ear. I take my cans off and give him my undivided attention.
It doesn’t matter where John lays down his groove; he’s always the best. I know this because John always tells me this. A tidal wave of confidence flushing the brown smelly stuff from my lugholes.
John explains how beautiful it is to find the perfect dance partner, but given his Fred Astaire standing in the world, it’s as rare as a bald eagle dipping into your cat bowl for a spot of Whiskers.
Any less than perfect, and there is a mismatch. John has to hold back and dance at the level of the person staring into those ancient eyes. They are hitchhikers; John always has the wheel; dragging those feet, handbrake partially applied.
He wants to roll.
Roll baby roll.
We are always dancing, and it’s crucial when we do that we have the right dance partner.
Take the dance between the person starting as someone that doesn’t drink alcohol and the zombie suffering from the deaf effect. It’s demoralising to talk about your new found wisdom when you know the person can’t hear you.
Off you go.
You want to roll.
Roll baby roll.
They can’t keep up, and before you know it, you are both lying on the floor wondering what the fuck went wrong.
When talking about alcohol choose your dance partner wisely, and that’s what we talk about in today’s podcast