Club foot

Am I reaching the twilight of my clubbing days I solemnly ask myself? I'm beginning to find the whole thing a perpetual bore and becoming more of an endurance test rather than a source of enjoyment. Perhaps I’m clinging on for dear life to the remainder of my youth? Or perhaps it's the crowd of wannabe celebrities who flock at such gatherings which makes me want to go home, curl up in my bean bag and fire up my dodgy DVD's (dodgy = fakes and not porn!).

I hasten to add, I have however adopted a liking to house music. Ever so strange for this to happen at my ripe ol' age when I should really be winding down, throwing in my dancin shoes in exchange for house slippers. Instead, I’ve found that I become a woman possessed when I enter a club, completely overcome by the need to jig around. This is followed by taking the supreme piss out of anyone who take themselves remotely seriously, and by them I mean those fellas who wear the white John Travolta suits with black shirts topped with sunglasses. Or even better, have you seen the guys who strut with the leather biker jackets in 40 degree heat? Hmm where have you been hiding? The girlies simply dress like prostitutes, poptarts or teenagers. By this, I mean the majority of course ;-)

With all the wonderful people watching pointing and laughing to be had I also manage to perform an Irish Jig, Morris Dancing, Prima Ballerina moves, Robotics and Running Man all fused together. But that's the beauty of house music. Unlike R'n'B, there are no real rules as to how one should dance, however that doesnt explain the odd looks I get... hmm moving on.

A self confessed R’n’B junkie is what I am, so I’ve frequented the R’n’B nights around town (wearing the t-shirts as I write). I do recall my first reaction though, "ohmegosh, I didn't realise there were so many Afro Caribbean people in Dubai (forgive me if that's the incorrect term, my PCness has evaporated!)...They’re so gangsta", or so they'd like you to think. You soon realise seeing past their "OG" (original gangsta) style, that they are simply hoodlums from Satwa (a more humble part of Dubai). You really have to see it to believe it, as it will have you choking on your shawarma. They honest to goodness seem to believe they’ve just walked off the set of a P.Diddy or Usher video. And the girls apparently believe they are Beyonce or J-lo generously accessorised with diva attitude...steady on luv..sort out the VPL before you smirk at my trainers! So get to steppin or something equally and forcefully threatening!

Once a Lebanese J-lo type creature woman wearing lip liner which was actually painted on by those vehicles used to paint a football field, cleavage where you could park a motorbike, and sprayed on clothes all in white, with...wait for it...VPL! (Cue searchlights and sirens, we’ve found an offender!) I was minding my own little business in the ladies, patiently waiting in queue when she straggles in, looks me up n down, then laughs at me...(oh damn, flash back of being at school!) See, now I thought my smurf outfit was quite fitting given that the little chirrups made some sort of comeback?! No no, I jest! The only item of clothing which looked remotely smurfish, were my blue and white trainers. When I go out to boogie, comfort over stilettos wins every time.

All of a sudden I found I no longer needed to go. I made my way out, but before leaving I gave into the temptation of passing a compliment, "you know you really shouldn't use your grandkid's crayons to apply as make up" and sauntered along (snigger)!

...Told you I had regressed!