Oh fuck, this could get embarassing.
Friday is my mate Kyles birthday and being a bit of an animal of a party persuasion he wants to try out a new nightclub in Newport.
Now unless I end up drunkenly copping off with a gilf or something this in itself shouldn't lead to me having to keep my head down for the next six weeks. The problem is however that when Kyle is merchant bankered he likes to strut his stuff. And if he is dancing everyone else has to be too. Alas I cant dance for shit.
To say I move like a land crab on acid is possibly slanderous to the crustacean. It really is a wonder to behold. My arms and legs go in about 400 different directions at once. My neck muscles give up on me resulting in my appearance being cannily familiar to that of Churchill (the dog not the Prime Minister) and my arse tends to wobble like Anne Widdecombe getting a cheap thrill off a washing machine spin cycle. And its not even as if I can blame alcohol. The same happens on the rare occasions that I try to dance sober. I just have all the natural rhythym of a slightly demented chimp trying to play the drums.
So what do I do? Do I decline the opportunity to look like a div on the dance floor and get called a wuss? Or do I go amoving and agrooving and risk a decades worth of piss taking from the entire town? I know its not advisable but I guess I will just have to leave my fate in the hands of beer. I shall keep you posted on my humiliation!!!!