I went shopping, briefly, on my way home today. It's not a shop I go to often: apart from being too big (I can't find what I want) it has very annoying music - the kind where you know there is a beat and a tune but it's very hard to identify either.
Yet, standing in the queue at the till, I suddenly felt this tremendous urge to start dancing. Just for the joy of it - for the crack, as the Irish would say. It wasn't just a thought, an "oh, it would be nice to dance to this track" idea. The music was still unrecognizable, nothing so familiar that it sparked off memories of parties and discos. My feet wanted to break into the steps of a jig or a foxtrot - they didn't care, just something quick; my shoulders started twitching; my whole body just wanted to start dancing.
I didn't give in. I was on my own - no one to have a laugh with; I am in my fifties and didn't really fancy making a complete spectacle of myself; and I was VERY conscious that the music was such rubbish that I would have looked absolutely extraordinary.
But, even now, I still want to break out. There's a bubble of joy inside me that just wants to bounce.
Something to do with the kids coming home tomorrow? Wahey!