Just the thing to get the feet tapping and the shoulders swinging on a miserable, wet day !
The only time I experienced it in the flesh, so to speak, was the night of my eldest daughters graduation, when the Mortality Family laid waste the picturesque little fishing village of Middlesbrough.
After visiting several hostelries which all seemed to have a signed Bernie Slaven top behind the bar, we moved into a totally different ambience.
Mrs.OM was the centre of attraction for a circle of fey young men, apparently drawn to her "Marianne Faithfull's dissolute older sister" look. The daughter's boyfriend and my son kept together, backs to the bar, trying to look agressively heterosexual, without realising that this was making them even more attractive to the regulars. I was at the bar talking to a guy of roughly my generation who, despite his age and the leathers, seemed to have little knowledge of 1950's single-cylinder overhead-valve British motorcycles.
The girls danced til they dropped.
We finished up in a cafe somewhere off Ayresome Road with Breakfast Pies - all the makings of a full English amusingly encased in a pie shell.
That was then and this is now.
The rain is lashing down again and the roof is leaking. I know exactly what to do to fix it, but it's not the sort of job you would attempt sober.