The Archive

Roll up, roll up

It's strange isn't it? I spent my youth in the eighties and managed to spend the entire decade without donning leggins or roller boots.

And what did I end up doing on Friday night? Why, a roller disco of course.

Now some might say I'm something of a hyprocrite for being so dead against drinking and driving, yet quite happy to go to a nightclub which serves copious amounts of booze to people who, to a man, are propelled around the place on tiny, unreliable wheels.

And they'd be right.

Fortunately, I don't care.

So, I went with a group of intrepid lunatics (Running Dave, Big Gay Mick and others) to the Renaissance Rooms, Vauxhall where we were each issued with a pair of sturdy roller boots and set out onto the 'dance' floor.

The first half hour or so made Bambi on the ice look like a Great Wallenda (look them up). I teetered. I tottered. I rolled.

I also met an awful lot of people. Because nothing says 'you look nice, I think we should chat' quite like crashing into someone at speed. When helping each other up off the floor, it would be rude not to introduce yourself, no?

I have a number of bruises today from such introductions. Also, I'm pretty sure only one of my kidneys is now working.

But for many of the spectators, the highlight of the night was seeing me, foolishly building up a head of misplaced confidence-based speed, then crashing into the barrier at the side of the dance floor.

This barrier consisted of a horizontal metal bar at about waist height, held up by regular vertical poles.

I barreled into the bar and grabbed on, coming to a sudden halt.

Or at least the top half did. My feet, maintaining their momentum and untroubled by notions of what the rest of me was doing, kept on rolling.

And thus I executed an elegant rotation underneath the barrier.

But don't worry, I didn't travel all the way under the metal bar and into the crowds beyond.

No. My legs had chosen to each travel either side of one of the vertical metal bars

Good job my testicles were there to cushion the blow eh?

And finally, to add emotional pain to my night's experience, there was I girl I kept bumping into throughout the night. It seemed to be going rather well right up to the point when she asked, "How old are you?"

"Too old," I replied, with a sad smile.

She insisted on an actual number. I told her.

"Yeah, you're right," she said.

Nice.

posted by Peter The Great @ 11:11 AM