Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Orthapaedic shoes, trinkets and other treasures....




Finding myself at a bit of a loose end yesterday afternoon I decided to venture up into my loft to finally clear out some of my massive clutter. Since I retired from competitve dancing in the late 1970's only the most majestic of my awards, trophies and prizes are housed in the living quarters of my wonderfully lavish 5 bedroom mock tudor mini mansion, golden shimmering monuments to my dance prowess adorn the walls and display cabinets of my home. From my earliest certificate for winning the national under 10's ballroom trophy to my final competitive trophy - the 1979 British men's veterans cup from Bournemouth.

But the true treasures and secrets are held in the dark and dusty old loft directly housed above Maters' bedroom. So at about 2.10pm yesterday afternoon just after watching Neighbours and polishing off a rather delicious snack of one of Corbetts prime Balsamic vinegar pickled pig's trotters with a nice potato salad I nervously climbed the ladder up into my Aladdins cave!!

One of the 1st things I instantly saw brought a wistful smile to my face and a little tear to my eye, fookin' ell it was one of Mater's old orthopaedic shoes, blowing the dust away from the size 10 NHS regulatation issue shoe I held it close to my moist cheek as my tears streamed onto the old clog.....such chuffin' memories.

Next amidst a few old copies of "Mayfair" and "Ballroom monthly" magazines I noticed some old letters, love letters from a selection of my past conquests. Now it's no secret that I have shared carnal relations with some very eligible ladies in my past but one particular letter made my heart sink. It was a passionate literary outpouring from the heart of one of my former lovers Anglea Rippon, things started to develop during the 1980's when Angela was presenting BBC1's "Come Dancing". I was occasionally a special guest during the series promoting my "Lester Sheepshanks Dancers" troupe', who were a talented collection of hand picked toe shufflers from my massive group of friends and pupils. Anyway I got chatting to Angela over a few weeks and we would often enjoy a large port or two in her dressing room after the show, sometimes I would drop by and whisk her off for a late night supper at one of my favourite London carverys for a nice pork roast dinner or we would stroll hand in hand giddily at midnight through Hyde Park....aah such joyful times.

We both knew that things were getting out of hand, I was 10 years older than Angela for one thing and she also had a jealous husband. Things came to a hand when one fateful July afternoon back at Angela's leafy country home, we had just commenced carnal proceedings when her husband bolted in through the bedroom door, what else could I do? I was stepping on another mans dancing shoes as it were, I had to do the decent thing and stand aside and let them sort out their marital problems - so after quickly finishing off my strokes I pasa dobled out of that bedroom with my clothes still under my arm and Foxtrotted down the stairs back to London. In her love torn letter Angela claimed that if I truly loved her I would have fought for her, but as I've said before, her husband offered to cut my feet off!! yes my sacred "Feet of Flames!"- any master of dance will tell you that his feet are his prized tools..... no thanks I thought to myself, I've had my fun - see you later Angela......ho ho ho tee hee hee, fookin' ell!!!!

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