*For listeners - You can see Robert Webb flashdancing here
What do you do to chase the rain clouds away? Metaphorically speaking, of course, but I mean melancholy caused by the physical condition. Returning to the Mountain from a spell in Tuscany, the weather was the same as when I had left weeks before - mist, fog, torrential rain. My mood was low. But as I drove carefully up the track, slipping and spinning on the mud, precious signs of spring were showing on the slopes - lambs suckling their mothers, swathes of white crocus and clumps of Star of Bethlehem in flower, alpine grass growing sweet and dense in the pastures. Green. Reasons to be positive.
The cabin had grown cold and damp in my absence, and I slept on the daybed that night, head inches away from the wood burner, relishing in the warmth and the comfort of the crackling logs. A sombre, rain-cloaked dawn brought another deluge, and I sat on my doorstep drinking tea, listening to the roar of the distant waterfall (usually a faint whisper) while contemplating my next move. I needed water, which meant a trip to the fontana. “Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink”, I muttered as I pulled on my waterproofs. Plugging in my headphones, I began the short trudge with a bag of bottles, gritting my teeth as the rain hammered my back and dripped from the end of my nose. Realising I was frowning, I stopped, remonstrated myself for self-pity and did a couple of star jumps to reset. Weather like this called for music. I paused my audiobook and selected an instrumental track on the streaming platform, the algorithm could choose the rest. Better. By the time I reached the fontana, I felt brighter, despite the water beginning to penetrate my rain gear, trickling down my spine and thighs. Standing still to fill the first water bottle and without physical motion to keep me warm, I realised I was shivering. Just as the thought “I need a tune to get me moving” passed through my mind, Spotify shifted to the next track. As the opening chords began to play, I laughed in surprise. Not only was this song going to get me moving, but the algorithm had gone rogue on me. I recognise a dare when I’m presented with one - challenge accepted. Rolling back my shoulders, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for an improv routine to Flashdance…What a Feeling.
Now, I am no stranger to dancing at the fontana, in the cabin, chopping wood… or anywhere else for that matter. This ex-theatre kid trained in dance and was happier on stage than in most other places, I always enjoyed playing the fool, fundraising for charity at school. Raise a smile, raise the spirit (and raise some cash while you’re at it). Those days are long gone, but I know the value of a daily kitchen disco to release endorphins and regulate the nervous system. Give me a chance to boogie, and I will still take it.
What followed at the fontana that morning was nothing short of a spectacle. I can confidently say I was not skilful, but I might venture entertaining, if you favour the ridiculous and embrace a childlike sense of letting loose. I leapt and shook my way around the fontana, pirouetted in the mud and threw shapes to the iconic song’s bridge. I used an empty water bottle as a welding gun substitute, tried to juggle two full ones, dropped one in the fontana basin - big splash. No matter, carry on! Wellies were my jazz shoes, ski gloves my leg warmers. If only I had been wearing my boiler suit - tragic mistake. Next time. It was three minutes and fifty-six seconds of unadulterated joy and freedom of expression that left me gasping for breath, crying with laughter, soaked to my underwear and spattered head to toe with mud. Good times, and honourable thanks to Martha Graham for The Technique.
So, here is my challenge to you, dear reader, and I know you could feel it coming. I ask you to take your headphones to the fontana of your choosing and set your feet and mind free. Your fontana could be the local play park, the garden, or around your kitchen table (although bonus points for a public place under rain clouds). It does not have to be Irene Cara’s 80s classic, I simply urge you to “take your passion and make it happen”. I want dramatic moves - think running man, hitch kicks, and soulful air hand grabs. I care little about two left feet, bad backs or lack of confidence. All the more reason to give it your best shot, I will be mentally cheering you on. Let’s start a “movement”. Dance, laughter and friends - a few of the (best) ways I know to chase the clouds away.
For those of you struggling to picture the scene of me flash dancing on the Mountainside, I was channelling the brilliance of comedian Robert Webb, whose rendition, the interweb informs me, was broadcast sixteen years ago. That makes me feel a little older than I care to admit. Never too old to lark about, however.
Just remember, as you take those first tentative steps in what I am calling the Fog Off! Splashdance Challenge : Close your eyes, because you are rhythm.
And a final note, before you ask: Yes, I have listened to Flashdance too many times while writing this short piece. No, I have never been a fan of the song and remain baffled by the algorithmic glitch that led to this serendipitous gift (as it turned out). And, yes, my algorithm is now completely screwed because, by all accounts, listening to any song on repeat must mean I love the genre. Enter Bonnie Tyler, Laura Branigan and Michael Sembello, stage left.
Send help.
