Easter Monday, April 13th 2009 – Tea for Two

41°13'N, 63°07'W, 2500 miles gone, 500 to go.

 

My exotic Spanish dance instructor has inspired me to new heights: I have been visiting the Tea Dance.  I had thought, dimly, when I thought about it at all, that the Tea Dance was an arcane device invented by the Woolwich Borough Council to give old ladies something to do in the afternoon other than feed their cats.  How wrong I was.  Cunard have elevated it to a pinnacle of commercial success.  There are a whole phalanx of gentlemen hosts on board, to see to the needs of the even larger phalanx of single ladies poised, cat-like at the edge of the dance floor.  When I said 'needs', I hope nothing tawdry flitted through your mind: these are elegant, stylish, well-dressed needs; the ladies, and, indeed the gentlemen, have spent considerable time and effort scrubbing-up for the occasion.

I, needless to say, am not elegible to participate in the needs-satisfaction department, since even a week of packing has not provided me with any outfit suitable for this occasion.  The props department of the Ealing Comedies would have readily provided me with an RAF blazer and a pencil moustache, but that would have stood out like a sore thumb among the faded elegance here.  (Curiously, there was, in fact, a sore thumb present on the occasion of my visit.  One of the gentlemen ushers was perambulating the floor with an injured thumb propped up in front of him.  And it stuck out: in both senses of the word).  It is clear that a proper dress code is operating.

Non-combatants are tolerated, but they are required to bring their own partners.  They don't have to follow the dress code.  They don't even have to be able to dance very well.  But they have to stay out of the shipping lanes during combat.  It looks a little like the radar screen you can see on the cross-channel ferries, with little dots negotiating passage here and there, and large blobs cruising elegantly through their midst.  Perhaps, more topically, it's like watching the Masters golf and finding they've allowed weekend players on the course at the same time. 

I had just settled into watching a bit of golf in the afternoon when it went off the air.  Golf is so restful to watch.  The sports channels have now reappeared, so I guess the satellites aren't visible mid-Atlantic.  Tea Dancing is a suitable substitute.  One can enjoy the effortless economy of the good players, while keeping an eye on the strategic outcome.  There is a bit of competition going on.  The gentlemen are looking for points to be awarded by the ladies.  The ladies appear to take their judging role very seriously.  Points are awarded in the form of smiles, laughs and sometimes even squeezes.  The gentlemen all notice.  The ultimate accolade is a wistful reluctance to admit a dance is over.   The gentlemen handle this situation very well.

On first viewing this event, I thought it was simply exploitation of the single women, but further observation, and a little participant polling, now leads me to the view that it may be nearer to the opposite.

Ah, life's rich tapestry!