Dancing at the Red Lion was always going to be a bit of a gamble - tucked away in a lovely corner of Norwich but well away from the tourist routes.  

If I was trying to keep my involvement in the Morris a secret then that was blown out of the water as two blokes from work jogged by - I suggested they stopped for a beer but I suppose it would have interfered with the fitness regimen: "Ho-Hum " says I as I swallow another gulp of beer.

... the same can not to be said of our two lovely visitors from Eastern Europe: I'll call you "the Svetlanas" because I can't remember your names.  You were great sports and joined in the fun - if you happen to read this, please remind us of your names!

By the end of the evening the biting insects were rising from the river and we concluded with a Kemp's first - a two-man Bonny Green Garters that eventually became three, then five, then six - very strange.

Please add your contributions to the comments box below: