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ventaWell, as I said around twelve months ago, it's that time of year again, kids. Once again the Dancing England Rapper Tournament is upon us.
A few hunderd people travelled up, down and round this weekend to York where the rapper competition was taking place. Friday's journey up was fairly hideous - Fiona and I left Reading just before two and didn't succesfully meet up with the hordes in the First Hussar until after eight. Which was particularly galling as Sue (our borrowed musician) gleefully told me it had taken her just five and a half hours to get to York. From Brussels.
We fell face-first into an oriental buffet joint, then headed off to the designated DERT meet-up place: York Brewery. The brewery bar is tiny, and was packed absolutely full of dancers, musicians and hangers-on. Having finally acquired myself a pint (tricky work) I turned round for the onslaught. Estelle, musician for one of the top Tyneside teams, summed it up fairly accurately when one of the barstaff asked her what was the appeal of the weekend: I know every single person in this room.
From my point of view, that's not technically true (though actually it might be from Estelle's). However, it's close enough. Whichever way you turn there's people to catch up with, chat with, be rude to and laugh with. The noise in the brewery was immense, just from the chatter. The staff were pulling pints as fast as they could go, then people went piling out to late-licence pubs as the brewery called time. And that's just Friday evening.
Saturday is, of course, the big day. By 8am people were crawling out of the bunk-bedded dormitories of the York Backparkers' and heading down for breakfast. Some people were clearly suffering from the night before ("doesn't Cartridge look awful?" seemed to have become some kind of mantra - actually he looked to me exactly like he always does, but I wasn't sure if telling him this would be consoling or deeply insulting). Others were taking the day at a run - over toast and coffee Don was politely enquiring whether we had any gin left, and later popped his head round our door before filching a quarter of a pint of Mabel's best Plymouth gin. Admittedly his bravado slipped slightly after a few mouthfuls when he had to concede he wanted some tonic in it.
Up and dressed, it occurred to Mabel[*] that we should actually have a practice with our musician. Mabel don't have a regular muso at present, and though I think we all know Sue, she's never played for us before. Down into the stone cellar of the hostel, a quick runthrough, settle on a tune and we were back in the brewery for our warm-up dance by ten. It went... ok. Ish.
Sue was playing a very lovely tune called The Blarney Pilgrim, sadly it's an unphrased Irish jig and we just couldn't quite hit the ends of the phrases correctly. (But you thought I said it was unphrased ? Yes. That was the problem.)
Back to our cold cellar for a few more runsthrough, and then a nice gentle amble to The Ackhorne to be there ready for our first competition dance. As well as a borrowed musican, we'd roped in one of our occasional Mabels to Tommy for us. A regular Mabel, only just recovered from a foot operation, was also there as moral support - "I'm nervous," she said as we lined up in front of judges and video cameras, "just so you don't have to be."
We danced. We felt it went well. We relaxed gently and watched the other teams on our tour. Valknut, a kids' team from Northallerton were back again. Beside The Point, one of the Massachusetts Great Meadows teams followed them, scaring everyone with their acrobatics. Beside The Point always make me think the same thing - they're great, they're entertaining, but they're not quite rapper (and the judges later agreed with me, placing them down the bottom of their category but awarding them the prize for the "Most Entertaining Dance".) Finally, Triskele Sword danced - a very fine, traditional performance by an increasingly smart team - and we were off to the next pub.
The rest of the day pretty much followed suit, following the carefully planned itinerary we'd been given - The Last Drop Inn, dance, have lunch. The Golden Lion, dance, beat hasty retreat as the inhabitants were glued to the widescreen Rugby. The Three-Legged Mare, dance. And that was it - end of competition dancing and time for a little fun. To celebrate, we went and danced in a pub :) (A different one, and one that hadn't been involved in the competition.)
Being Mabel, of course, we eventually wound our way to Betty's for tea and cake. Betty's is all that's best about upmarket, old-fashioned Yorkshire - a beautfiul 20's tea-room, with white-apronned waitresses and triple-decker cake plates. I ordered Earl Grey, and was delighted to find it arriving in all its silver splendour (tea pot, water jug, slices of lemon, sugar, strainer, spoon, fork for the lemon) on my very own silver tray. With doily, of course. Fiona and I shared cinnamon toast and buttered pikelets between us, and lamented the demise of afternoon tea as an event.
DERT's evening section was happening in, of all strange locations, the National Railway Museum. In strangely dimmed lighting hundreds of people gathered between silent, gleaming behemoths of the steam age. Despite the people, and the music, and the cheering and chatting, the air of stillness was never quite shaken. A closed museum is a strange thing, a place where you're clearly not meant to be. The huge, hanger-like building quietly absorbed us all and the locos and beautful royal carriages watched calmly as the world's rapper teams performed, one after another on stage.
People asked us how our day had been, and Angi and I discovered we'd been independently giving the same answer: we don't go expecting to win, but we felt we'd danced well, and, above all, we'd enjoyed ourselves. Unusually, half-time "leader boards" of 1st, 2nd and 3rd teams in each class had been posted at midday; we'd been wholly unsurprised to find ourselves not on them. The standards at DERT have risen massively since my first outing in 2000, and last year we came well below half-way down our class.
Which explains why, when we were announced as the 3rd place in the Open class, we were unprepared; scattered all over the crowd instead of tightly together like most teams, thoroughly confused and faintly hysterical as we milled onstage to get our plaque.
I think this weekend has probably been my favourite DERT (and not just because we got a nice plaque to hang in the village hall where we practise). I love York, and we had great pubs to dance in and friendly audiences. The pub crawl route was simple to follow and all in the town centre, and I got to gaze lovingly at shiny steam engines. Although the use of youth hostels pushed the price up, having a bed was a pleasant change from last year's unhealthily-packed indoor camping venue. The whole weekend was beautifully planned and organised. They'd even persuaded the brewery to create a special beer for the event. And the prizes were nicely spread about. Until last year's debacle, Black Swan had pretty much swept the board - this year, as host team, they weren't competing and honours were divided among a good few teams. Plus there were a few extra categories - Most Unusual Dance Location, for example.
During the day, teams were invited to dance anywhere they felt was unusual, and submit photographic evidence. Our dance in the toilets at Betty's didn't really cut it - several other teams had had similar ideas - and required considerably less skill than dancing on a bin, in a phone box, or on an escalator (which all apparently happened). The prize was eventually won by Valknut for dancing at the top of one of the Minster towers - the clincher being that they'd managed to get a signed statement from the clergy that they'd genuinely danced where they said.
A thoroughly fine weekend - plus as someone said in a text message to us last night "WOO! GO MABEL!".
[*] I was competing with Mabel Gubbins this weekend. Because Boojum is an occasional venture whose members are drawn from other teams, we don't enter competitions. Besides, two of Boojum's dancers, plus the Tommy and the MC were judging ;)
A few hunderd people travelled up, down and round this weekend to York where the rapper competition was taking place. Friday's journey up was fairly hideous - Fiona and I left Reading just before two and didn't succesfully meet up with the hordes in the First Hussar until after eight. Which was particularly galling as Sue (our borrowed musician) gleefully told me it had taken her just five and a half hours to get to York. From Brussels.
We fell face-first into an oriental buffet joint, then headed off to the designated DERT meet-up place: York Brewery. The brewery bar is tiny, and was packed absolutely full of dancers, musicians and hangers-on. Having finally acquired myself a pint (tricky work) I turned round for the onslaught. Estelle, musician for one of the top Tyneside teams, summed it up fairly accurately when one of the barstaff asked her what was the appeal of the weekend: I know every single person in this room.
From my point of view, that's not technically true (though actually it might be from Estelle's). However, it's close enough. Whichever way you turn there's people to catch up with, chat with, be rude to and laugh with. The noise in the brewery was immense, just from the chatter. The staff were pulling pints as fast as they could go, then people went piling out to late-licence pubs as the brewery called time. And that's just Friday evening.
Saturday is, of course, the big day. By 8am people were crawling out of the bunk-bedded dormitories of the York Backparkers' and heading down for breakfast. Some people were clearly suffering from the night before ("doesn't Cartridge look awful?" seemed to have become some kind of mantra - actually he looked to me exactly like he always does, but I wasn't sure if telling him this would be consoling or deeply insulting). Others were taking the day at a run - over toast and coffee Don was politely enquiring whether we had any gin left, and later popped his head round our door before filching a quarter of a pint of Mabel's best Plymouth gin. Admittedly his bravado slipped slightly after a few mouthfuls when he had to concede he wanted some tonic in it.
Up and dressed, it occurred to Mabel[*] that we should actually have a practice with our musician. Mabel don't have a regular muso at present, and though I think we all know Sue, she's never played for us before. Down into the stone cellar of the hostel, a quick runthrough, settle on a tune and we were back in the brewery for our warm-up dance by ten. It went... ok. Ish.
Sue was playing a very lovely tune called The Blarney Pilgrim, sadly it's an unphrased Irish jig and we just couldn't quite hit the ends of the phrases correctly. (But you thought I said it was unphrased ? Yes. That was the problem.)
Back to our cold cellar for a few more runsthrough, and then a nice gentle amble to The Ackhorne to be there ready for our first competition dance. As well as a borrowed musican, we'd roped in one of our occasional Mabels to Tommy for us. A regular Mabel, only just recovered from a foot operation, was also there as moral support - "I'm nervous," she said as we lined up in front of judges and video cameras, "just so you don't have to be."
We danced. We felt it went well. We relaxed gently and watched the other teams on our tour. Valknut, a kids' team from Northallerton were back again. Beside The Point, one of the Massachusetts Great Meadows teams followed them, scaring everyone with their acrobatics. Beside The Point always make me think the same thing - they're great, they're entertaining, but they're not quite rapper (and the judges later agreed with me, placing them down the bottom of their category but awarding them the prize for the "Most Entertaining Dance".) Finally, Triskele Sword danced - a very fine, traditional performance by an increasingly smart team - and we were off to the next pub.
The rest of the day pretty much followed suit, following the carefully planned itinerary we'd been given - The Last Drop Inn, dance, have lunch. The Golden Lion, dance, beat hasty retreat as the inhabitants were glued to the widescreen Rugby. The Three-Legged Mare, dance. And that was it - end of competition dancing and time for a little fun. To celebrate, we went and danced in a pub :) (A different one, and one that hadn't been involved in the competition.)
Being Mabel, of course, we eventually wound our way to Betty's for tea and cake. Betty's is all that's best about upmarket, old-fashioned Yorkshire - a beautfiul 20's tea-room, with white-apronned waitresses and triple-decker cake plates. I ordered Earl Grey, and was delighted to find it arriving in all its silver splendour (tea pot, water jug, slices of lemon, sugar, strainer, spoon, fork for the lemon) on my very own silver tray. With doily, of course. Fiona and I shared cinnamon toast and buttered pikelets between us, and lamented the demise of afternoon tea as an event.
DERT's evening section was happening in, of all strange locations, the National Railway Museum. In strangely dimmed lighting hundreds of people gathered between silent, gleaming behemoths of the steam age. Despite the people, and the music, and the cheering and chatting, the air of stillness was never quite shaken. A closed museum is a strange thing, a place where you're clearly not meant to be. The huge, hanger-like building quietly absorbed us all and the locos and beautful royal carriages watched calmly as the world's rapper teams performed, one after another on stage.
People asked us how our day had been, and Angi and I discovered we'd been independently giving the same answer: we don't go expecting to win, but we felt we'd danced well, and, above all, we'd enjoyed ourselves. Unusually, half-time "leader boards" of 1st, 2nd and 3rd teams in each class had been posted at midday; we'd been wholly unsurprised to find ourselves not on them. The standards at DERT have risen massively since my first outing in 2000, and last year we came well below half-way down our class.
Which explains why, when we were announced as the 3rd place in the Open class, we were unprepared; scattered all over the crowd instead of tightly together like most teams, thoroughly confused and faintly hysterical as we milled onstage to get our plaque.
I think this weekend has probably been my favourite DERT (and not just because we got a nice plaque to hang in the village hall where we practise). I love York, and we had great pubs to dance in and friendly audiences. The pub crawl route was simple to follow and all in the town centre, and I got to gaze lovingly at shiny steam engines. Although the use of youth hostels pushed the price up, having a bed was a pleasant change from last year's unhealthily-packed indoor camping venue. The whole weekend was beautifully planned and organised. They'd even persuaded the brewery to create a special beer for the event. And the prizes were nicely spread about. Until last year's debacle, Black Swan had pretty much swept the board - this year, as host team, they weren't competing and honours were divided among a good few teams. Plus there were a few extra categories - Most Unusual Dance Location, for example.
During the day, teams were invited to dance anywhere they felt was unusual, and submit photographic evidence. Our dance in the toilets at Betty's didn't really cut it - several other teams had had similar ideas - and required considerably less skill than dancing on a bin, in a phone box, or on an escalator (which all apparently happened). The prize was eventually won by Valknut for dancing at the top of one of the Minster towers - the clincher being that they'd managed to get a signed statement from the clergy that they'd genuinely danced where they said.
A thoroughly fine weekend - plus as someone said in a text message to us last night "WOO! GO MABEL!".
[*] I was competing with Mabel Gubbins this weekend. Because Boojum is an occasional venture whose members are drawn from other teams, we don't enter competitions. Besides, two of Boojum's dancers, plus the Tommy and the MC were judging ;)
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no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 12:28 am (UTC)Unlike wikipedia, though, you haven't cross referenced the irrelevant stuff (I'm sure, if they got hold of this, they'd link up not only , but as well.)
Glad it was worth it after the travel :)
no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 01:08 am (UTC)I'm sure that you deserved it and danced your tabard off.
Hope to see you dancing again soon..and maybe share an afternoon tea in Oxford sometime over Easter?
no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 02:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 08:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 08:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 11:01 am (UTC)3rd
Well rapped that team !
So is this like chess where "open" is the most prestigious category ?
no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 06:26 pm (UTC)And... I'm horribly confused about teams. Which are you part of? Is it both Mabel Gubbins and Boojum?
Re: 3rd
Date: 2006-03-20 10:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 10:25 pm (UTC)My main team is Mabel Gubbins. Boojum is an "occasional" team (we all dance with other teams). So at events like this all the members of Boojum have first loyalties elsewhere.
It's not at all uncommon for people to dance with more than one team, though. For example, the two top Tyneside teams, Kingsmen and Sallyport, practice in the same pub on different evenings, and for years they had a floating membership of approximately the same people. The technical name for someone who dances with multiple teams is "a tart".
It's also not unusual to be asked to step in to fill a gap. I've danced with Stone Monkey and Pengwyn on 10-minutes notice because they were short of people. Also in "scratch" teams which are put together on a one-off basis for the fun of it out of any old dancers who can be found. It tends to involve a lot of strange sounding conversations while people check everyone knows the same figures.
Viz. the conversation I had with one of Pengywn in a stairwell:
A: Needles ?
Me: Yup.
A: Choker ?
Me: Er, no, you'll have to walk me through it.
A: Mary Ann ?
Me: Yup.
A: Bollocks ?
Me: Yup.
<some dancing ensues>
<it goes horribly wrong>
A: Aargh, you do curly Bollocks and we do straight Bollocks.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 10:26 pm (UTC)It does seem to be the rule that every wiki'd page has at least one erroneous or useless link, yes.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 10:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 10:28 pm (UTC)Keep an eye on Mabel's Calendar (http://www.eastwick.fsnet.co.uk/mabel/when.html) and I'll try and keep it up to date!
no subject
Date: 2006-03-20 11:10 pm (UTC)Some day, some day, I'll come and see you dance. With luck it might even be before the duo hit university.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-21 07:40 pm (UTC)