As I sat on the edge of the bed this morning, trying to decide which leg showed the greatest potential to go about it's days business, a phrase suddenly came into my head.
Apache Dance.
I had no idea why. I still do not know what caused this to liberate itself from my brain's disk drive and come to the fore i n this manner. Oh yes, I knew what an Apache Dance was. Way back in the early '50s (19 50s that is), there was only a limited amount of home grown entertainment for the TV schedules. Programmes were put on which had a strong continental European flavour and Apache Dancing figured large in these routines.
It was a strenous dance with a woman dressed in our idea of a Parisian gangsters moll. Tight black skirt with long slit, low cut white blouse and a cravatte-like scarf. Her male partner wore equally tight black trousers and the horizontally-striped shirt of blue and white. Oh yes - we had colour TV. The girl would act as if seeking forgiveness and try to get the man to dance with her but he rebuffed her advances - viciously. Things progressed that he did dance with her but in a violent and abusive manner. He quite often finished things by throwing her into a corner and shooting her. To us - veryexotic and foreign. Just as we imagined those dirty French people would carry on.
All day, I've had my brain trying to work out what was the point behind this journey back in time. I had not been doing anything else that was related to the '50s.
Oh well - all come out in the wash I suppose. But it is puzzling.
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