A Barn Dance

As ex-Londoners who are still very excited about their new country life, Hugh and I were delighted to receive an invitation to a barn dance at a neighbour’s farm last weekend.

Going to any sort of a party, let alone a barn dance, is a rare event for me these days. Parties are always hard work for someone with ME; a lot of chatting, standing up and background noise do take their toll. You can always try to sit down to save a bit of energy, but it often means missing out on conversation as you can’t hear what people are saying if they are standing up.

But despite all that, it was a great event. The continuous rain we had been having stopped just in time, and it was a beautiful, if a bit chilly, summer’s evening. There were people of all ages, from babies to grannies and grandfathers. The barn was decorated with hazel twigs, and there were tables made from wooden apple crates with hay bales as chairs. Naturally there was a band playing, with a caller shouting out instructions. I did not dance, although I would really have liked to have, but it was fun to watch the mayhem neverthless.

Alas, recovering from the party has been slow and difficult (seems so unfair as I did not even drink). This week has pretty much been a write-off but I thinked I’ve turned the corner now, although I am still much more tired than I was before the party. But sometimes you just have to do these things, regardless of the consequences.

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