International Evening... with Dance

On the evening's programme the title 'International Evening' looked innocent enough, until you cast your eyes down to the next line '...with dance'.
After my experiences with karaoke the weekend before, I really should have known better. But I heard the words 'Scottish Dancing', and felt a sudden stab of nostalgia for the hairy legs, sweaty hands, flying sporrans and Bombay Sapphire of a St Andrews ceilidh session.
When I arrived in the entrance hall they were about to Strip the Willow. One man was unfortunate enough to be standing unaccompanied by the door. His name badge specified 'Republic of Moldova'. I grabbed his hand and dragged him into the fray.

We moved on to a Moldovan wedding dance, involving stepping in a circle from which men with handkerchiefs plucked likely-looking girls for a dizzying polka, followed by a kiss. Clearly designed to generate further weddings, this was the equivalent of the English reception-marquee moment where the DJ reckons on an average 10 pints (of Freixenet) per bridesmaid, and whacks on 'Especially for You'.

I had no success in scoring a Moldovan husband, and didn't have the good sense to leave the dance floor before the Spanish girls got to the CD player.

As a result, I was caught up in the Macarena, without even a paltry litre of sangria for moral support. As a British girl, I have to protest. My hips just aren't designed to move without the help of alcohol.

We proceeded to a Dashing White Sergeant, who very quickly dashed out of control, and continued to my all-time favourite, the Ukrainian Man-Snatching Dance. This is rather similar to Stripping the Willow, crossed with Oranges and Lemons: single girls sprint down the inside of the human tunnel, tearing some bemused guy away from his partner on their way. The abandoned demoiselle then has to dash to the end of the tunnel on her own man-grabbing mission.

Somehow, I managed to begin this dance as a man and end it as a woman. Methinks Tinky Winky is at play again...