Have just been out of town, accompanying my daughter to a Ballroom dance competition. She (only 8) had a great time and took out a few trophies too, slick little hip swinging chacha sweetheart that she is, but, as for me, her highly strung, bookish, grave-wandering maman, I fear I haven't the heart, or indeed the claws, for the competiton that plays out around the edges of the floor.
Oh, E. I'd rather run with the bulls in Pamplona.
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