Being a dad – and in particular being a father to a young daughter – has definitely brought out different sides to me.
Anyone who has ever seen me shuffle awkwardly across a dance-floor will know that I am about as close to John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever as an arthritic elephant is to Anton du Beke. Weddings, Christmas parties, you name it – when the lights go down and the band starts up, I have always beaten a retreat to the bar at a speed that would rival Usain Bolt.
Parenthood has changed that, however. In Kara, I have found the perfect dance partner. Whether we are copying the performances on Strictly or, as was the case yesterday, queuing for a ride at Legoland and seeking to alleviate the boredom, any sense of embarrassment of self-consciousness disappears out of the window when my Darling Dancing Daughter – or Triple-D™, as I have now christened her – demands to be twirled.
Kara, thankfully, has not inherited daddy’s two left feet. She has an eye for replicating moves and the confidence to carry them off, whether it is with me, Isaac (a more than willing partner) or dancing solo, as she was in this shot.
Although the pose she has struck up here might be more appropriate being used on the cover of her forthcoming fitness DVD …
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