It’s like a cock-up only much, much bigger.

Not proud of myself right now. In fact, I should be one of those things wiped out by household cleaners. I am a prick of the highest order.

I have been attending parties with my wife for 21 years now and at each and every one I have had to be bullied on to the disco floor and made to let my inhibitions go.

I do not dance well.  I’m tall, (fairly) thin and don’t have good musical co-ordination.  It’s a long way from my brain to my extremities. I reckon I look like a prize prat and a massive part of me becomes hugely self-conscious about the whole affair.  This becomes a self-perpetuating cycle of thoughts. I could not relax and let go.  My brain issued unhelpful instructions like “you’ve got to be up early in the morning to drive to Wales and collect a cat” and “what is this music?” (me and dance music rarely see eye-to-eye).  Mindful of the early start, I’d also stopped drinking anything alcoholic and was out of the happy buzz.  I envy those who can get down and boogie but that only seems to make it worse.

I did not dance with my wife. I danced, once, with my daughter after being issued a direct order. At the time, I hated myself for not letting go.

Now, I hate myself for not letting go.

Why is this such a problem for me? Give me a ceilidh, with its ordered dances and sort-of-structured chaos, and you’ll not get me off the floor! I’ll drag complete strangers into the dance and do so until I drop. But I can’t let go and disco as easily. “There are no wrong moves!” I’ve been told over the years on these occasions. “but that means there are no right moves either” points out my brain helpfully and I clam up.

I need help with this. My daughter has suggested dance classes, someone else that I should become a children’s party entertainer and have my self-consciousness removed that way.  Seriously, folks. What can I do? I NEED your help. Anyone’s help!