And I'm blogging post-club. Post-what-was-meant-to-be-an-80s-club, but wasn't. On the other hand, I was expecting a "30s and over" club would be full of creepy old men, but it wasn't too bad. I danced with one guy like a bunny (I was dancing like a bunny, he wasn't like a bunny) and he said that no-one else there was dancing like me. Well, duh, when was the last time YOU saw a French girl dancing like a bunny? I don't think the concept of dancing like no-one's watching has taken off here (or probably most places, to be fair). Then it was too loud to catch most of the rest of his conversation, but it seemed to centre on how nice the toilets were and how we should check them out, which I thought Did Not Bode Well, so I left him to check out the toilets on his lonesome. I also danced with another guy, who I thought was quite fun. I am happy to dance with anyone, as long as they can do more than shuffle on the spot, so I had no particular complaints with this fellow, but my friends told me later that they nicknamed him "The Greek" because he kept dropping to his knees (which, I dunno, Greek people do?) and I was "The Highland Dancer" because by comparison I looked like I was undertaking almighty feats of leaping about. Maybe I was being a bunny again.
Anyway, I think I will regret it tomorrow, when I'm sober (hungover) and have probably regressed into officially sick once more. But at 6.18 am, I'm happy to report a fun night out. Time for bed.