I’LL admit it. I’ve always wanted to learn how to dance. Not in a camp Wayne Sleep kind of way, but more like Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing or even John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever - full of red-blooded machismo.
And besides, blokes who can dance always knock girls off their feet because it gives off all the right signals.
A good dancer shows that he knows how to use his body, and it is the closest you can get to
sex with your clothes on.
But my d
esire to be a dancer began even before I knew what sex was - my primary school headmaster told me football god Pele possessed all the grace, poise and balance of a dancer, and looking at old footage of Brazil’s number 10 cutting through defences with the ball glued to his feet, I soon knew what he meant.
However, in the cold light of day the whole idea has always seemed absurd.
I’m the kind of person who only dances at a ceilidh after I’m prised from the bar having drunk several pints of Dutch courage.
But hearing that cast members of Riverdance were giving lessons while in Edinburgh, I decided the time was ripe to follow in the footsteps of Michael Flatley and finally discover, once and for all, if I had a sense of rhythm, even if it was Irish.
All seemed fine until I walked into Dance Base’s plush new studios on the Grassmarket and then it hit me - this was going to be totally unlike an evening boogying in one of the many meat markets where you can dance under the cover of near-darkness, safe in the knowledge those around you are blind drunk.
I found myself in brilliant daylight - thanks to the impressive glass roof - totally sober and opposite a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror which ran the length of the room, so I could see every mistake I made - and boy were there mistakes.
As 23-year-old prima Riverdancer Katie Maguire took the 19-strong class through a series of routines, I tried to stand as instructed with the upper half of my body board-straight, arms by my sides while kicking my feet in time with the music. But my reflection in the massive mirror betrayed the terrible truth.
I looked like John Cleese doing a particularly energetic version of the Ministry of Funny Walks sketch - legs flailing wildly.
That’s not to say the other people in the class were as hopeless as me. They gracefully leapt and did their "swizzles" and "jump overs" in perfect synchronisation as the sound of Riverdance pumped from the speakers.
As my first line of defence, I decided to adopt the "I-know-I’m-crap-but-bear-with-me" smile that has served me well in similar circumstances in the past.
But as instructor Katie - who has been dancing in the stage production of Riverdance for six years - took the class at a brisk pace, showing us exactly what to do, I translated her gazelle-like leaps into what you’d expect from a clumsy 6ft 3in man with size ten feet and a co-ordination bypass.
When the two-hour class finally ended, Katie let me into a little secret - despite being in her early 20s, she’s been Irish dancing at a competitive level for 17 years.
Suddenly I started to feel a little better. "Both of my parents teach Irish dancing so were showing me how to dance before I could even walk," she explains. "But I started dancing competitively when I turned six.
"It is normal for people to begin young and if a child is going to reach a high standard, they must start before they are 13 or 14."
There were some children at the lesson and it was a great opportunity for them to learn from a pro like Katie. She explained Riverdance has helped her see the world, but the pace of life has been nothing short of gruelling.
"I’m on the European Riverdance tour at the moment, so we are travelling to places like Germany, Spain, Italy and we’ll end in London later in the year.
"But I’ve also travelled outside of Europe with Riverdance, going to places like Australia, Hong Kong and Singapore.
"You really have to look after yourself because the regime can be quite gruelling.
"Each show lasts for two-and-a-half hours. We do eight in a week and the run lasts for around six months in total."
The dancers have to be as fit as athletes and are accompanied on tour by an entourage of masseurs and physiotherapists to ensure they remain in tip-top shape.
I wasn’t the only one who was braving Riverdance for the first time.
Paul Carline, a 57-year-old freelance language translator from Newhall, was also taking the plunge, but as a seasoned ceilidh dancer he had a definite advantage.
"What attracted me to Riverdance was that it’s so vibrant and energetic," he says. "Last year I went to about ten salsa lessons which were also in Dance Base. They were great fun so I decided I’d try something else. And the two-hour dance session is a terrific way to keep fit.
"Curiously enough, Riverdance is fantastically popular in Finland. I went to visit a friend out there and they told me it was huge. And it was while I was in Finland that I saw a video of Riverdance for the first time."
One of the best dancers at the session had to be 29-year-old nurse Randi Iren from Bergen, Norway, who travelled to Edinburgh with two friends especially to learn some new Riverdance routines.
Randi performs Irish dance in an Irish bar in Bergen and belongs to a 20-strong Norwegian Riverdance troupe.
"The problem is there are no Riverdance teachers in Norway so many people have to travel to Ireland or Britain for tuition.
"We are here for a week so we want to learn some new moves so we can show them to the other dancers at home."
So what about my mission to learn the noble art of dance? One thing was for sure, during my two-hour Riverdance session there was every chance I’d knock a girl off her feet - but in the wrong sense entirely.
