Cowboy dances are barn again

Okay, hands up if you own a check shirt. Hands up now if you can see a check shirt from where you're sitting. Could you safely bet on seeing another five before you make it home today? Probably, yes.

From Hoxton hangouts to nifty Knightsbridge, London society is decked out in fashionable check. Rather handy for those who are, say, gearing up for a barn dance.

I found myself in that category last Saturday. I'd heard from friends about Cut A Shine's Valentine's barn dance back in February, when it was packed to the rafters with cool, fun, up-for-it singletons. They told me that spinning around energetically with strangers was a brilliant way to meet new people — and had the dates to prove it.

We'd been invited to their latest night of barn dancing mayhem at Finsbury Town Hall, Islington. Never particularly inventive with fancy dress, I was happy that all getting involved meant was donning a check shirt and jeans. What a doddle.
Joe Buirski, Cut A Shine's promoter and banjo player, introduced barn dancing at the squat parties he ran a few years ago.

"It was the perfect warm-up before the DJs," he says. "We quickly realised the barn dance was the focus and it took off from there." Soon Joe and his fiddlers were playing all over London. The barn dance became a monthly event at Finsbury Town Hall, attracting a regular cool, young crowd. It was even being hailed as "the new rave". Yes, really.

Game for a laugh, my two friends and I joined a be-checked crowd of revellers, paid our £12 entry fee and strode through the polished swing doors of the hall at 7.30pm on a warm night to witness the hoedown for ourselves.

Passing scarecrows in traditional costume and straw hair, we made it to the ornate main room. Tables covered in check sheets were dotted around the edges and there was a healthy feeling of anticipation among the 300-strong crowd. The outfits ranged from full cowboy gear to the occasional feather boa. Before long the band struck up a rousing chord and frontwoman Vic Doggart called us to the dance floor.

I joined the rush, ending up with a Dolly Parton lookalike to my left and my friend Ben on my right. I was amazed how easily everyone jumped into a big circle together.

Veterans who knew the moves were quick to help the inept (Dolly had the patience of a saint with me). "Yee-haw!" could be heard all across the room. The sense of exuberant camaraderie was mighty refreshing: jumping into a dance few of you know is a fab ice-breaker.

It dawned on me I'd turned up with a couple who, while glad to dance with me in turns, were happier dancing together. As the next dance began I tried to look nonchalant at the edge of the floor, hoping I wouldn't have to sit this one out. To my joy, a strapping young man in cowboy boots and open shirt, complete with manly chest hair, grabbed me by the hand.