The added advantage to going this early is the catching the old ladies dance class. Fantastic. They are a vibrant group of about twelve, all in their sixties. They wear little leotards and leggings alá Fame, and do a sort of gently whirling tai chi styled aerobic dance. Their trainer is about forty and as camp as christmas. I'm fairly certain I"ve seen him on my later nights out doing slightly more convoluted moves. He is trim and bejeweled and wears the tiniest shorts imaginable. For some strange reason he wears a headpiece microphone, even though the dance room is not that big and the acoustics mean you can here even the most casually spoken word. Naturally the ladies love him and he flirts outrageously with them.
'Come on Margie, don't make me come down there sweetie!'
'Alice, I said tree, but think oak dear, not willow. Get 'em up girl, you can do that can't you, I heard you're a bit of a goer!'
'Come on girls, let's go...and a one, two, three, let's trip the light fandango! You wanna be limber dontcha! Don't want to be stiff, that's no good, that won't impess him!'
Much tittering ensues.
Every single one of them leaves that room smiling. Maybe I should mention it to the harpy downstairs.