On a dancefloor in darkest Dalston
I noticed that the Japanese lad in front of me suddenly froze, in mid-dance. After a couple of minutes, I tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he was OK. The barest of almost imperceptably minute nods was the reply. So I left him to his internal journey; he stayed completely motionless for at least ten minutes, before resuming his shape-throwing activities as if nothing had happened.

What made it an even more bizarre sight was that directly behind him was a wild-haired hippy type, throwing himself around in a complely insane fit of spastic movements...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 23 Sep 2010, 11:00, 3 replies)

Oh shit.
I sincerely hope that wild-haired hippy wasn't me. Tell me this wasn't in the early/mid 1990s?
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 23 Sep 2010, 11:15, closed)

More like late 1990's
I can't say for sure right now, but I'd guess 1998 ish
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 23 Sep 2010, 11:22, closed)

Hmmm ...
I think I should be safe. I love dancing. Dancing, however, does not love me. Nor do my friends, as they continue to allow me to.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 23 Sep 2010, 11:27, closed)