When you arrived, there were few people. Some of them were playing badminton in a foursome and immediately greeted you warmly and offered you a place in the game. You replaced two adults (who went off to check on preparations) and began to share giggles and ineffectual shots, plus plenty of misses, with two pre-teen girls who were dressed very unsuitably for sport (this being a party, after all). When
Sunday morning, 9.30 am, a Worthing dance studio. Oddly (if you’re used to choreography and dance as a practice of rigorous self-correction), black-out blinds blank out all the full wall mirrors. Like No Lights, No Lycra then, this looks like one of those places where we’re being encouraged to let go of self-consciousness and drop into our bodies, uncensored by fears of being ridiculous or not moving ‘right’. Shoes off,
Tuesday night at the Honey Hush Club and Colin Tenn on the decks mixes classic Elvis with lesser-known tracks, making judicious choices about tempo, era, danceability. Many people made the effort to dress up vintage: anything from 1940s style wide-leg pants – so conveniently back in high-street fashion this summer – through denim dungarees (aren’t they fantastically hot to dance in, you wonder) and, naturally, several circular skirts. Nobody’s wearing net
The barista’s tattoos are beautifully done – multi-coloured swoops and curls of dramatic shapes. It makes you a bit dizzy to look at them as you sideways-squint, trying to make out the images, trying not to be too stare-bear, while she focuses on not getting scalded by the heavyweight high-end machine. She looks up and catches you looking a bit too intensely. You smoothe it over by asking what the