My usual venues for seeing live bands in Bedford tend to attract the senior, craft-ale-drinking, more-listening-than-dancing crowd, which suits me to a tee. But on Saturday-night my gang were meeting in a pub across the river to see a band we hadn't seen before. The place had also been selected for a 30th birthday party and a smaller gathering of young, gin-loving gay women. The place was jumping! (and the floor slippery!)

Most of my group were startled by the youngsters, none of us could recall a time when we had been as reckless or as loud, but they seemed happy and no danger to anyone but themselves.

Some of my gang got up to dance, I got up to dance, I returned to fetch others who hadn't yet got up to dance.

The dance-floor is about the same size as the living room in my flat, and the more young drunk people were up dancing, the more care us older folk had to take to avoid crashing into or tripping up the nippers. 

At one point a very tall (6'3”+?) young (early 20s?) lad noticed my nimble footwork and joined in, and then he took my hand and twirled me and it was oh such fun!

I do nothing at all to disguise my age, he felt at liberty to ask me, so I told him truthfully. He was more impressed than he ought to have been, he told me I was amazing and I told him he should meet my mum. We laughed and we hugged, but mostly the hugging was to prevent him from toppling over.

I had such a fun night!