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The last job I had in Australia was for an ASX 100 company.

Despite its considerable importance in the business world and its very high public profile, it was known, back in the day, for having quite a few out-there personalities amongst its executives – including yours truly.

So when I was preparing to depart that job six years ago, I felt it incumbent on me to plan a multi-departmental farewell party that would become the stuff of legend.

And so it unfolded. Here are the details in dot point:

  • The venue was the Grosvenor Taxi Club – sadly now closed, but back then, a bit of a Sydney institution, being one of the city’s first LGBTI licensed venues and the most inclusive, quirky place imaginable.

  • One of the hits of the evening was the lethally alcoholic punch I asked the bar staff to make (recipe provided by my massage therapist). When my loyal party co-conspirator called the venue during the day to confirm bar arrangements, he was told that our contact had gone to her mother’s to borrow a punchbowl – talk about service!

  • We had karaoke (which of course, I monopolised – and run for the hills and take the microphone with you should Drops of Jupiter, Islands in the Stream or Love Shack ever play in my vicinity).

  • Various sub-groups, no doubt punch-affected, behaved in strange ways – picture, for example, straitlaced analysts performing the can-can, and assorted others doing a spot of pole dancing. (Yes, there was a floor-to-ceiling pole on the dance floor for this purpose, and it got quite a work-out.)

  • At one point, the dance floor was cleared for a brilliant surprise my wonderful colleagues had sprung on me: a Latin American dance demonstration.

Which leads me, at last, to the subject of this post: the fabulousness of dance!

Back in those days, you see, I was a bit of a Latin American dance addict (and tap dancing, now I think of it – but that's another story).It started with my desire to learn the tango in advance of a business delegation to Argentina, which saw me rope in a dozen or so colleagues and a tango teacher.


It continued with salsa – when I again roped in assorted colleagues. During this high point of my dance career, I even got up the courage to venture amongst the truly talented at assorted Sydney hot spots for a bit of ‘social’ salsa (not what I’d call a raging success, I’m afraid).

And finally, I was led to what I think is the sexiest dance in the world: zouk.

Sadly, after that epic farewell party at the Taxi Club, my career took me overseas and I was forced to give up dance classes as my travel schedule ran amok.

But recently, I was enticed back into the Latin American fold by one of my erstwhile colleagues/dance companions.

So for a few weeks now, my Monday nights have been spent revisiting salsa and – dance of my heart, if not my limbs – zouk.

And this is what I’ve found:

  • Friendly girls

  • Friendly guys

  • Screaming quadriceps (that has to be good)

  • Good music

  • Lots of laughs

Last Monday night, when I was in bed with my husband, the Hon (who is NOT a dancer), I reminded him of that farewell party. You see, the dance demonstration that the night was given by two of my dance teachers, and after their own demonstration, the lovely male Brazilian instructor (with whom I was half in love) took me by the hand and led me onto the dance floor for a zouk number, to the wild applause of our very kind audience.

When I came off the floor, the Hon, who had never seen me dance, said to me in something of an awestruck voice: You were so fabulous.

Now I ask you, who doesn’t want to hear that at least once in their life from the man they love?

So – does anyone out there like to trip the light fantastic on occasion? Or would you rather stick a fork in your eye, like the hero of The Millionaire's Proposition, Scott Knight?

Of course, Scott has reasons. Not only is he a real Aussie bloke, but he carries a scar or two form the past when it comes to dancing:

He suggested a "friends with benefits" arrangement? • Two nights a week • Strictly confidential • One month only… It may have been his proposition, but lawyer Kate Cleary is so buttoned up she whips out a contract for them both to sign! With her high heels and stockings, all Scott Knight can do is sign and move to the implementation stage! Kate couldn't be more jaded about relationships. After all, she is in the business of ending marriages! Millionaire architect Scott might be seriously sexy, but he's also a complicated enigma. One she's quickly becoming determined to solve…even if that means breaking the terms of her own watertight contract?


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