There’s something about a fancy dress ‘Back to School’ party which brings out the inner rebel in a person.
My own day was a school-governed one with my school holding their Open Day during the morning, my step count way over its target before 11:00am.
The rebellion, n my case, is lost years of being the Miss Goody Two Shoes who wouldn’t say boo to a goose,who now wants the chance to roll back and become the cool kid. My teenaged disaster being the application of sneaky eyeliner, much of which was also handy when I inadvertently shaved off my eyebrows, a tale for another time. I can, however, report that black kohl pencil, that being all I possessed in the eighties, does not make for the natural eyebrow look.
The evening, as most do, began with distribution of signs. The event calls for Little Boys Room and Bike Shed (no kissing being the order of the day), not to mention the Detention corner.
Freestylers poured through the door, beginning with a trickle but closely followed by a cascade. An impressive number of dancers considering some them, a hardcore bunch, attended a Wild West themed class only the previous night.
Scoops rattled as bags of tuck shop sweets were shared between paper bags in readiness for handing out after the fun class. Memories of years spent choosing from sherbet filled space ships, foam teeth and refresher chews flooded back. As a child, I recall pointing out to the patient shop assistant behind the glass sweetie counter, as I opted for the confectionery which gave the most for my ten pence treat. I hasten to add our dancers were given more than ten pence worth.
The music, a diverse range of tunes spanning all eras, and including some much yearned for Ceroc Nu Line dances, beat out its rhythm throughout the night as schoolboys and girls, headteachers and an Ofsted inspector ensured the only thing missing from this school disco was an array of wallflowers, reluctant to dance. Thankfully, those school discos ARE a distant memory and Cerocers never fear being the first to step out onto the dancefloor.
Gemma taught a great fun lesson with Ivan as her trusted (dressed like the naughty schoolboy that he was I am not sure I would trust him) demo, which kept the class moving and giggling.
Tables were full, non-dancers hot-chairing when they took a break for beverage and chatter. Many giggles could be heard as ‘children’ bickered and told tales to a headteachers inundated with requests for the cane to be used, mockingly of course!
With no hint of chewing gum under tables, catapults shooting dampened paper bullets (although I did notice a catapult or two poking their heads from naughty boy’s shorts pockets), pulling of hair or bullying, the overridng theme was still that of a class of naughty children overseen by a small number of authority figures.
Costumes never fail to delight at Ceroc Fusion freestyles and, while the theme remains consistent, the costumes vary immensely and the thrill of watching the characters walk through the door never fails to delight.
Laughter dominated this fabulous freestyle, closely followed by aching feet and legs which some of us felt deserving of the fast food many of us were denied as children .
The staff at McDonalds might have groaned inwardly when we piled in, freckles smudged and boaters askew but I can report that we were a very well-behaved bunch. We might have flossed, laughed a little loudly (considering some of the so-called jokes from the Headmaster and Ofsted inspector) and wolf whistled as one of the sexy schoolgirls (I hasten to add she was one of our group) walked back from the little girls room but we were far from rowdy – the food quietening even the noisiest of us to satisfied mumbling.
Having not crawled into bed until gone two, this blog is composed as I struggle to open my heavily-bagged eyes, while inhaling the welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Another fantastic evening. Thank you Ceroc Fusion!
Writing and Rhythm 