>I am fully aware that “Line Dance” and “Ball” placed in close proximity could be considered an oxymoron.
Nonetheless, once a year for the last 14 years, roughly 800 to 1200 Bootscooters, Two-Steppers, and the odd renegade Clogger, have forgathered in one of several venues in and around Melboune, on a Saturday evening in late June, in enough glitz, glitter and bling as to be considered overdressed by your average drag queen.
Indeed, I’m fairly certain that ‘Good taste’ and ‘Bootscooting’ have probably never before appeared in the same sentence
However, having not been to The Ball since 2003, I was more than happy to be offered a ticket / place on the bus about 3 days before the event, and on a weekend when David was unexpectedly in Respite.
Yee Ha! [ as it were ]
So, after a quick raid on the ‘dressups’ box in the shed, this is moi
Everything still fitted … more or less
… and you might please bear in mind that I was considered perhaps a wee bit underdressed [ she says tongue firmly in cheek ]:black tiered peasant skirt and top, crazy patchwork tuxedo style vest, 70 year old rhinestones, my best competition-standard cowdy hat [ with $2 plastic tiara ] a belt buckle big enough to choke a horse, and fringed cowdy boots.
We were picked up about 45 minutes late by the chartered bus full of Bendigo dancers who had definitely already started celebrating, and headed down to Melbourne through a beautiful crisp winter day
that quickly deteriorated into solid-rain-and-football-traffic but still got out to Keysborough with time to spare.
This year there were only 70 dances on the program [ last time we went there were 88 ]
I did about 15 – 20 [ last time ? 80 ]
Given that I’ve had nearly a year off with the surgeries, 15-20 was probably about 5 too many so it’s just as well I didn’t know too many more, eh ?
This is self with my good friend Karen and her partner Malcom. Poor man doesn’t dance and was probably bored out of his brain but hid it well[ish]
Amazing what I can achieve with a bit of Polyfilla and industrial strength makeup, isn’t it ???
Bus ride home through peasoup fog [ so glad I hadn’t driven]
to be dropped off at Harcourt at 3.15 am – zero degrees – and a slow fogbound drive home from there, which saw me into bed around 4.
those flipping inconsiderate goats proceeded to demand breakfast approximately 5 minutes later, although my clock insists it was actually all of 7am.