My favourite song to cut loose to was "Too Drunk to Fuck" by the Dead Kennedys. Shit, I could move. Danced all night, every night. Alcohol had little effect on my lithe system, probably could put it down to youth, a fast metabolism, and the dance, dance, dance burning it out of my body as quickly as I put it in. I never suffered hangovers back then, they were a much later development.
I danced all night
I drank 16 beers
And I started up a fight
But now I am jaded
You're out of luck
I'm rolling down the stairs
Too drunk to fuck
Lycra was my cloth of choice, freedom to move, no revealing issues if I backflipped or did the splits, and I had great legs that glistened in the shiny, tight material.
1982Had the hair that never moved too much unless I was flicking it around cutting loose. You know the permed, gelled, sprayed tousled messy tangle that passed as sexy in that era...
And I danced on pencil thin stiletto heels, usually boots, but sometimes those towering court shoes, even lost one into the band room at Newcastle Workers one night. Sailed clear across the stage over the lead singer, clearing the bass player, much to their amusement. Luckily I knew them all well, had grown up with a couple of them. Damn those high kicks, knee parallel to shoulder... I had to limp sheepishly back to reclaim it from security amidst masses of laughter.
Ah, those were the days!