May Day is an appropriate time to put up an extract from my next book, Spring In My Step, which is The One About Sex And Morris Dancing. It will be out later this summer. This is just a little taster, because I am a big tease, but if you like it then you will be able to get the whole story from Xcite Books in about a month’s time.
I was telling Susy and Leah, two of my teammates, all about the very sexy man I’d picked up on Friday. Tuesday night was practice night, as always, and the three of us were spending the latter half of it skulking in the corridor alongside the main hall. I had actually forgotten that the documentary crew were going to be there, getting some scenes of us working on our dances rather than just performing them, and so I hadn’t bothered to wash my hair or put any make up on, so I was happy to skulk in the background. Mercifully, after a minute or two, those of us who weren’t being filmed had been told to get out of the way so we didn’t talk or cough or bumble into shot at the wrong moment. Dawn, our team’s founder and leader, was explaining the Addebury arm movements that were known as ‘prick and balls’, which had delighted the filmmakers, and the other two dancers who were at practice that night, Jayne and Belinda, were demonstrating them. Over and over and over again. Well, Belinda and Jayne were the ones who had always been the keenest on the whole TV project, so let them do the hard work, I thought.
‘So this chap you met looked like a decent dancer?’ Leah asked, homing in straight away on what was, to her, the most important thing.
‘Bloody hell, yeah,’ I couldn’t help exclaiming, and we all three giggled.
‘Never shag a man with no sense of rhythm,’ Susy recited, doing a moderately good impression of Mel. Our fiddle player was on the petite side, with cropped mid-brown hair and a sweet wide-eyed face that was completely deceptive; she knew more obscene jokes than anyone I’d ever met and had a legendary track record when it came to pulling men, though she claimed to have quietened down a bit now she was in her forties. Susy and Leah were both happily married but that didn’t stop them taking a lively interest in what the single members of the team got up to. Obviously I didn’t go into too much juicy detail, because the possibility remained at the back of my mind that I might see Robbie again. It’s all very well describing the finer points – or the rubbish ones, for that matter – of a man’s technique to your mates if you know there’s not the faintest chance of you introducing him to them, but if you think they might be facing one another across a pub table at some point, you really don’t want someone like Mel going, oh, are you the one who shouts ‘Respect the cock!’ at the moment of orgasm?
I did actually share that thought with them when Leah complained that I wasn’t being forthcoming enough, and Susy said she remembered the first time her husband, Allan, met the rest of the team and got asked if he was a dancer or a shandy drinker, and he’d said he’d rather have a single malt, thanks.
It was probably just as well that Jayne stuck her head round the door at that point and asked us all to come back into the main hall.