Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Tuesday, June 15, 2004

After The Love Has Gone...

T'is a sad day. I have just taken the last Steps track off my iPod-like Palm Pilot (just like the real thing, but shows porn too!). But to be frank, their 5, 6, 7, 8 was starting to smell a little. And the Summer of Love ended three years ago with a pregnancy and a Spanish waiter fired.

Steps tracks are dangerous to Gentleman In The Entertainment Business: many an hour was spent in the bedroom tossing your arms around learning the specific dance moves. Liken it to the elaborate dance that bees perform in communication - this was exactly the same. To our community, how well you could perform A Deeper Shade of Blue can be a good indication of how well you can perform, er, elsewhere. I myself was once ousted from the podia upon which I was throwing some wicked shapes by two stick-thin disco moppets as soon as the first strains of One For Sorrow were heard across the dancefloor.

"Out of the way," they cried. "We're bar staff!"

"I wouldn't brag about it," I rejoined, but I fear my witty retort was lost within the 'oof!' I expelled from being manhandled from my vantage.

Of course they were marvellous, pulled the best boys in there, and were signed up for a fabulous six-week holiday right then. Damn their emaciated bodies.

For myself, learning such moves was a long and arduous process. Taping videos from CD:UK and quietly retiring after dinner to work on the middle eight - it was no picnic. Leaning near disco-moppets in such clubs to learn were not without hazards: as one misplaced movement can lead to - at a minimum - a smack in the head.

Steps themselves performed to a packed Pride one year, all attendees copying their gesticulations. Seventeen people were blinded.

So, they are now passed on to the great musical hall in the sky, leaving nothing but a suspiciously large legacy in some Gentlemen Who Are Good Listeners' CD collections, and some race memories in dance moves. The latter being a problem in itself: one can get lost in one's own world when listening with headphones, so much so that the muscle memory takes over when Steps comes on and - before you know it - you're half way through the dance of Better Best Forgotten in Waitrose.

But no longer. Ne'er more will I get the urge to throw my arms skyward in the international gesture of Tragedy in HMV.

Unless they cancel the Girls Aloud album release, of course.

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