Thursday, August 26, 2010
You can dance in a cupboard if you put your mind to it. Face up against the door, smell of the oak plank in your nose, bruises on your elbows and knees. Suck oxygen through the keyhole and watch out for mothballs underfoot.
‘Can you hear something?’ someone sitting at the kitchen table might say, buttered scone halfway to their open mouth.
Their companion may shrug, turn back to their tea and blow on the surface.
‘Go on,’ they’ll say, leaning forward and ignoring the steady banging that signals you learning the complex yet expressive moves of an Argentinian tango.