Canning

Wow! It's nearly 4 a.m. and Maria-Amelia and I have just returned from Canning and there's absolutely no chance of me getting any sleep. I didn't stop dancing all evening. And I danced with an unnecessarily thrilling dancer, probably the best dancer I've ever danced with, tonight. Not once, but five times – that's about twenty dances. Lili saw me dancing with him and said the Spanish equivalent of “I've been watching that man with my tongue hanging out for years and he's never asked me to dance, you jammy bitch!” How can I explain what it was like? He didn't dance with me, he danced me, possessed me, invaded me and played me like a musical instrument, with a virtuosity and a tenderness and a virility bordering on brutality. I felt like a rag doll in his arms and my legs flew of their own accord into perfect voleos and ganchos. At least they felt perfect. I wasn't watching. A big, beautiful Argentino and yes, he had the obligatory ponytail. What's more, he spoke English well and made good conversation. He said where he'd be tomorrow and gave me his contact details. Huh! He was too good to be true and quite frankly, I don't care if I never dance with him again, though it would be nice. I could become possessed, the woman wailing for her demon-lover*. If I were to get used to him, other guys would only disappoint. All the same, I can't sleep.

(* Kubla Khan, S.T. Coleridge)