Saturday night was a good night. Also a ridiculous night, because that’s what happens on nights out for birthdays.
I haven’t been out dancing properly in ages. I need to do it more often. There’s nothing quite like the way dancing in a group of friends works, the stupid moves that have accumulated in years of going to the Limelight and Mandela, people mugging for the camera, or stealing the camera to exact vengance for the Drunken Angel picture that you took years ago, the way personal space dissolves into arms slung round shoulders and shared chairs, the way we are Not Talking About P’s thesis, the way S has trained everyone she knows to spin like a top when she puts her finger on top of their head.