9 July 2025

The doctor would then perform hip replacement surgery.

Or the state.

Or the National Health Service. It doesn’t matter.

I’ve decided I need to write about this.

In instalments.

Part 1.

The fact that it hurts is a process. Always. There’s no such thing as it not being so. After all, there are 365 days in a year, so 365 times a person thinks it’s going to get worse.

Or better. Who knows...

It doesn’t hurt that much when I’m dancing. I think there’s a bit of psychology in that, too. It’s just that bloody awful feeling when I realise I can’t even do it as well as the clumsiest dancers...

The former professional...

I have to laugh.

And I’m the one teaching, a proper Master Mekk.

The limping dance teacher... well... ha... haaa... hahaha!

Pointing is a thing of the past...

And the leg lifts. I never thought this would be difficult one day. Well, here we are.

Once upon a time:

Monday: OldBoys, Pecsa.

Tuesday: Rocky Party at Alcatraz,

Wednesday: Cadillac, Almássy Square,

Thursday: Madarak,

...no problem...

Friday: Any kind of ballroom dance party.

Saturday: Saturday night fever.

Sunday: Five o’clock tea.

I’ve put up with it for decades...

35 years of competitive dancing, and now...

What sort of life is it that moves, lives and pulsates all the time, only to be condemned to switch to spectator mode?!

I’m not retired.

I don’t think I ever will be!

Dance classes, camps, parties, balls, events, dance weekends.

Ahem...

Aflamin. That’s the name of a painkiller. Prescription-only.

I have to laugh. I’ve never been on any medication my whole life. And now...

No one can see how rubbish it is.

No one can see that it’s rickety.

Just that it’s limping.

Bloody hell!

But I’m doing it because you, life, my work, my colleagues and my students expect it of you.

Actually, that’s right!

Because that’s what keeps me going.

I’m going, I’m doing it, I’m living, I’m teaching.

Today too.

And then a loooong, deep sigh.

Long live social security!!

Because 09/07/2025.

Kisses!:))))