The Acquisition of Memories

by BorneToFlow

Embarking on their honeymoon, Charles and Elsie begin to process the events of their wedding day and those leading up to it. A series of internal reflections; lengthy, fun & sometimes in-depth conversations; &, interspersed with requisite amounts of playful holiday fun & honeymoon adult times. From Ch19 rating is a tasteful but strong M. Some S5/6 JF canon is blissfully ignored.

18. Chapter 18-Coming to Their Senses: Touch

The Acquisition of Memories- Chapter 18: Coming to Their Senses: Touch

A/N: A review from Suzie suggested I get Elsie's take on what she thinks of Charles' physique. Well, turnabout is fair play I guess, so I re-jigged my final 'Senses' Chapter to be both Elsie and Charles' perspectives on the sense of touch.

Still, fairly safely T –stuff I reckon, but I have upped the rating to M just to be on the safe side- will be needed for the next chapter I think. I am hoping that might be done over the weekend.

Hope you like this one, all the same.

BorneToFlow

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"Oh, I do think it was the Downton Double Act that swung this little adventure our way, Mrs Hughes!" He smiles mischievously at her, one bushy eyebrow raised high.

Elsie chuckles and smiles broadly back at him. Well, he's made me happy once again, that much is certain!

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Charles and Elsie finally settle back into reflective but smiling silence in their cab.

Elsie concentrates on the sounds of the crowds in Leicester Square diminishing and the horse's hooves on the roadway sounding out the beat of their journey towards their first home together. Once more, she is intensely aware of Charles' proximity to her. But somehow, Charles manages to leave the finest of gaps between their upper arms and their thighs on the narrow bench seat they share. Side-by-side. And unlike earlier in the theatre box, where the playful, back and forth flirting they engaged in across the night was exhilarating, now the lack of contact at the heart of it is starting to drive Elsie to distraction.

How can he remain so ramrod straight and motionless, yet still manage to dance away from me? Elsie heatedly thinks. He is defying every expectation I had of him tonight. And I can barely stop myself from reaching for him! Why has he not let his hand linger on my lower back as he has ushered me through each doorway tonight? Why has he not touched his hand to my lower back at all? I could swear he has touched me more freely back at the Abbey some days.

He is ghosting contact over her, and every nerve she has is unstrung.*

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The carriage is jostling them steadily since the horse is able to maintain a steady trot down Piccadilly now that the traffic has cleared at this late hour. Charles has unconsciously started to tap a foot in some sort of fascinating counter rhythm to the sounds of the horse's hooves, like the beats from the songs from the show are still playing through him. My song and dance man seems to have awakened, Elsie muses, or perhaps he is nervous too.

She feels her skin moving freely against the silkiness for her new clothing and it makes her acutely aware of the fact that they are fast approaching that part of their 'full marriage' that had recently filled her with so much trepidation. But, everything has changed so much for Elsie- and all in the space of one short day! She marvels that this could be the case at all, for is she not still the same woman as yesterday? A woman deemed pretty enough, in a general sort way in her youth (nothing more), and who is now staring at the wrong side of middle age with a body that has come close to failing her in illness, and that is not getting any fitter or younger, and will no doubt fail her again before too long? It is the same body she had in the months after Charles proposed- that same body she has fretted about being able to please him. How is it that she can now feel so vigorous and capable and desirable?

It is true- Elsie cannot deny the marvellous feelings that have been building within her all day- on the train, as she reflected on their wedding morning and aspects of her past with Charles; and as their hands touched and their lips brushed; or as they had danced in each other's arms later; and as she read and heard his fearlessly honest professions of love for her. Indeed, the depth of Charles' love for her is certainly something she could never doubt again, and Elsie knows that her love for him is just as strong. Is it this alone what has made her feel such waves of joy and happiness and sensual excitement?

Now that the hotel is looming ever closer and the final destination of their wonderful and romantic and fun night out together is pressing ever closer, the feelings that Elsie is almost entirely focussed on now are the purely carnal reactions her body is having to Charles's. For the thing she does know that has distinctly changed for them today is the freedom they now both have to indulge in the slow-burning and intricate courting of their desire that has played out between them tonight. Never before have they let so much of their want for each other be revealed so openly- even though Elsie knows that they have been more than discreet with their affections in public.

She feels a shiver roll over her entire skin just thinking about it. What is this? Anticipation? - Yes… but more than that... All that Elsie can, somewhat tenuously, liken this deep physical reaction to is a strange sensation she remembers from long ago – the distinctly physical response she sometimes had as a girl back on the farm, before she really knew what animal urges might be, or why they might be stirring within her. And even now, Elsie cannot quite fathom why this particular occurrence should bear any resemblance to what has touched her nerves so strongly today- when Charles is near her. Her reactions back then had been unconscious, they came from a place of innocence, really, and certainly from ignorance, for no one ever spoke of what it meant to be a woman before she was thrown into the need to work to support her ailing parents. Elsie just remembers the feelings back then were raw. Real. The sensations then were powerful- that strange excitement she felt when she had to lead a horse out to her Da- the animal all quivering and muscular, the sleek neck and course hair warm beneath her fingertips. But it was the power that it contained- frightening in its size, but controlled and graceful- and at her command- yet willingly so- for she knew that no animal that naturally and wildly powerful could be held by human hands unless it chose it willingly, and certainly, no mistreated animal would ever do anyone's bidding well or for very long on a farm. But Elsie remembers now that strange connection she felt to another living creature that lives within the tight constraints of required behaviour. That vigour she sensed in the animal- it was the same as the one inside her- coiled tight but below her consciousness. It was inside her- within her body. A body that was then growing inexorably towards womanhood and greater responsibilities and expectations- that feeling of absolutely raw energy that sounded out to Elsie in the clipping of the animal's agile feet on harsh ground; or that she felt in the snorting misty breath- hot against the chilled air around her face; or that she could the touch in the quivering hard shoulder muscle as the beast leaned firmly into her upper arm- all that vitality- so close- mirroring her own such that it would send tingling shards running from her neck to the base of her spine- even at that young age. It seems wrong now- now that Elsie knows what she knows of such things, that this physical reaction should occur back then- in that way. But back then, it was just innocent energy, growing and responding to the living reflection of itself in another vital spirit.

But tonight it is different. Everything about tonight has been intensely conscious for Elsie. It is different, but it is still entirely thrilling, and for Elsie, it feels completely liberating- for all of her fears about not being able to please Charles as she is now have been proved false. They have been crushed by a few steely glances her way that openly displayed a potent energy for her. Lust- for there really was no other word for it- and she has never seen it directed to her from anyone before, not really, not even Joe Burns- who was dear and kind and would have been a gentle and dutiful husband, but, really, no more than that. For Elsie thinks that to display lust, as Charles has done so for her tonight, actually requires a great openness to being vulnerable- to trusting someone fully. For who can say when your raw feelings might be kicked back in your face? Ridiculed? Is that not what she really feared might happen to her, if she displayed this part of herself to Charles and her body was not an adequate vessel to inspire him or in which to house their passion? No, Elsie reasons, lust like this- that looms large and feels exciting and powerful and empowering, and even dangerous at times, but is ultimately safe, must only come from a place of true love- where it can be given as equally as it is received.

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Elsie studies Charles' strong profile- the too-large nose, his silly, bushy, loveable eyebrows! – The ones that she just wants to repeatedly smooth down with the pads of her thumbs and brush back up again to make her smile. The sleek silver of his slicked back hair. His very handsome, clean-shaven jawline with that delightfully deep cleft on his chin- she thinks her fingertip might fit nicely into that indent. And those beautiful, soulful dark eyes. And then, resting neatly above his knees, his gentle broad hands which, most excruciatingly tonight, still do not reach to hold hers. If it were not for the fact that she has kept glimpsing that spark of longing in his eyes when she catches him looking towards her; if it weren't for the fact that she can hear a deep hum, almost imperceptible, rising from his broad chest as he breaths, slightly heavier, maybe even more rapidly than normal; if it weren't for the glimpse of his Adam's apple bobbing slightly above his high starched collar when he seemed to need to swallow down that desire that she has seen rising in his eyes… No, if it weren't for these minute signs, Elsie might have started to believe again that he was not as interested in beginning a full marriage with her tonight- one that she is now positively yearning for.

Tonight, the dizzying mix of flirtations and the small signs of the raw and lustful power lying behind all of his immaculate restraint just serve to make Elsie ever more ardent. She feels almost wanton in her desire for his large body to be pressed against her. She wants to feel the bulk of his torso in her arms- wants to try to hold him so close that her hands can actually meet together at his spine, which she knows is not quite possible from the few embraces they had shared so far. But she wants all of that – to touch him, and find out if he has strong muscles across his chest, as she has imagined he would have from years of holding hefty platters aloft. She wants to squeeze tightly to his upper arms and know that it will not hurt him- that he would actually want to feel that strength from her and that it does not shock him. She wants to feel the fleshy softness of his cuddly belly against the skin of her own age-loosened middle and know that her being old and not so taut and trim anymore is still desirable to him- for he is still entirely desirable to her. She wants to run her fingertips lightly up his strong, muscular legs, to feel the hairs that she imagines are there- running coarsely across her fingerprints. She wants to be able to rub her palms across his smooth and toned buttocks and squeeze tightly into the taut muscles that she imagines have built up there after years of climbing stairs and standing still for hours at attention. She wants to feel how the years of his life in faithful service have sculpted his body. She wants to feel all of that powerful heat of him pressed up against her skin, filling her belly with shivering warmth. Oh, Gods! Elsie! Get a hold of yourself, Lass!

Elsie feels heat sting across her neckline, creeping up to her ears. She knows he has seen it too, for his feet have ceased tapping to his own tune. Can he hear what I am thinking? For she feels, irrationally, that he can. Or at the very least that he can already read her body as it calls out to him. Can he tell? Can he tell that all this holding back is building in me the sweetest deepest longing I have ever felt for anything? Can he tell now that all I want to do is grab him by his lapels again, right here in the bouncing carriage and steel another fiery kiss from those deliciously full lips of his that look like he is far too relaxed and happy for this world- like the cat who got all the cream in the dairy. Is that what he reads upon my skin?

Och! Control yourself, Lass!

Elsie breathes deeply, trying to cool her thoughts through the inhalation of the pleasantly cool night air. It takes several lungs full, but finally, she knows that she will not cave. She will hold onto her decorum in this small carriage right now. For Elsie knows that, somehow, this holding back of his, this restraint, is exactly what has attracted her to him over all these years, and there is a very large part of her that wants to keep holding onto this aspect of Charles and their unspoken connection for as long as she can. There is a part of Elsie that knows that once this self-imposed boundary of no contact with each other is breached tonight, that it will be like a circuit completing and firing. And as much as the power of their connection, she is sure, will strike like electricity through her body and sustain her always, she also wants to feel that relief and release to its fullest when they are both fully ready. And so she desists.

Elsie carefully refolds her slim gloved hands, places them demurely in her lap, and is still.

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As Charles hands her down from the carriage, Elsie feels compelled to remove one of her gloves and pet the lightly sweating horse that has seen them safely home. The horse snickers contentedly into her palm and its neck muscles twitch in the cool night air as it settles down from its recent exertions. Elsie quietly gives thanks to the horse, not feeling at all silly speaking closely into the ear of the dumb beast. Charles looks on, a little surprised, yet lovingly amused to see Elsie in all of her finery looking so comfortable next to the rather common looking nag. Charles enjoys his wife's reactions to the animal nonetheless. He sidles up to join her, rubbing and slapping his large white-gloved hand firmly against the tired animal's neck. All of Charles's instincts and comfort around these animals has not left him, even after all these years away from the stables. He also speaks to the horse, freely, soothing it with his low rumbling voice as he might one of the babes in the nursery when sleep eludes them.

"There's a good lad, you've had a long day haven't you? Time for your rest now, boy."

Elsie is equally struck by Charles' interaction with the chestnut pony. Although they do not touch when she runs her hand down the horse's neck, skimming close to Charles' now fur and sweat-mucked glove, Elsie feels that same frisson down her spine that she felt as a young woman when in the presence of carefully stilled animal intensity. Only this time, Elsie knows that it is Charles' latent energy that causes the sensations running down her spine as she secretly hopes for his strong bulk to touch her, somewhere. Anywhere. She wonders if Charles senses the shiver run over her back and what he might be feeling in this quiet moment, for he is quite unreadable.

Charles does not reason much about it, but he wants to see the small horse well cared for tonight. And so Charles hands the driver what he thinks is a generous amount for the other fares he may have taken that night and tells him to take the beast home, rub him down early and for the man to go see his wife and family tonight.

"Well thank you Guvn'r, thank you kindly," the Driver tells him enthusiastically, and assures Charles and Elsie that he will do just that.

Elsie gazes lovingly at her husband once again as he deftly fishes a pristine white handkerchief from inside his jacket and hands it to her to wipe away the earthy grime from petting the horse- the kindness of his soul shining brightly under the warm glow of a street lamp at the edge of the darkened green.

Silently, they turn and, hand-in-arm, walk through the hotel doorway, nodding thanks to the doorman on their way.

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Outside their suite, Elsie exchanges some brief pleasantries with the floor butler about the success of their evening, and then Charles requests that the man arranges various details in preparation for their outing tomorrow. These are to include a later than normal light breakfast delivered to their room, no maid or valet service in the morning, a booking for the 11:30 am high tea in the Palm Room, omnibus route details from Buckingham Palace to Millbank, and later from Millbank to the Victoria Embankment Gardens. Charles has decided that a motor taxi from the gardens back to the hotel would be more efficient at getting them back in time to freshen up for their late, 8 o'clock dinner booking in the Hotel restaurant. He also reasons that, after the whirl of all these events at the start of their marriage, that they might be a little too tired to face the other forms of transport on the route back to the hotel. All of these are tasks that, of course, Charles could have discharged with ease in his own role as Butler, but tonight he has other, far more pressing and enjoyable duties to attend to, and he is happy to allow the superior services of the Ritz Hotel to cover these particulars for them. Being waited on is such a rare pleasure for them, after all.

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Maintaining his reserved distance, Charles sees Elsie into their suite once more. She stops in the little foyer and is helpless to prevent the wave of anxiety that sweeps over her about what will happen next between them, and this is despite the surety she has of the fire of both Charles and her attraction to one another- the attraction that Elsie herself has helped to flame so vigorously across the evening. Charles, ever the attentive butler reassures her with the bulk of his presence behind her. The strong low rumble of his steady baritone seems to touch her skin and soothes her nerves as it has always done. With silent steps, he approaches her near the foyer mirror and simply asks, "Your coat, Milady."

They do not speak. It is a practiced routine- reassuring in its mundanity. It soothes Elsie even further, as the plush velvet pools briefly at her ankles. With a deft flourish from Charles, she feels the soft brush of its hem against her silk stockings as he keeps it from touching the floor as he lifts it away from her- years of practice keeping his hand from skimming against her in any way. She looks up at Charles in the mirror as he carefully hangs her lush garment and removes his top hat and gloves, placing them on the valet sideboard. Elsie goes to unpin her hat, but Charles holds up a hand towards her head.

"Please, Milady," he speaks deeply. Slow. Somehow his syllables seem drawn out, "Allow me."

Elsie looks intently into his reflected eyes and gives the slightest of nods. He carefully removes the pins that secure the hat in place, managing to avoid brushing his fingertips on anything, bar a few strands of her hair. She feels the whisper of the touch. He turns to place the hat near his own on the valet and asks permission, with his eyes and with an infinitesimally small gesture towards Elsie's hair- May I?

Yes is the answer from Elsie's eyes, which have grown wider with quite some wonder as she sucks her lower lip between her teeth. No man has ever unpinned her hair before.

And for now, at least, Charles will allow himself this small contact with Elsie.

Time draws out as he reaches to find the first pin that holds this new pleasure in place, and he wonders, not for the first time, how long her hair is when it is down. The new style is so expertly pinned that he cannot tell how much is tucked under at the nape of her neck. Even when it had dusted against his cheek earlier when they had danced so closely. And now, as he runs his eyes over it from behind her- where he can breathe in its soft floral perfume and the warm and light duskiness that rises from the skin of her scalp – that aroma that makes his stomach tingle in contentment and fluttering anticipation for other dreams he will soon be able to touch- oh, so gently. But no, not even when he is this close to Elsie's hair... he cannot tell its length.

Her enchanting hair- pinned up with promise- a secret treasure to him it has always seemed – a trove that holds for him a gift of scent and softness. And now, tonight, it is his to handle- reverently.

He ghosts his right palm over the waves of her new style, as he has wanted to do so all night- to feel the soft ridges and valleys of the waves bump and flow over the mounds of muscles at the base of his fingers. So soft.

Charles' acute eye for detail easily locates the pins that hold the style in place. Never touching through to her skin, carefully working around her ears, he pulls the pins gently, one by one, from her hair and places them in his waistcoat pocket. The style drops away and he sees for the first time the long braid that has been hidden at her nape. It is so much longer than he expected! The end of her plait has not been tied with linen, as he had seen it in the past, on those few occasions when the house had to be roused from their slumber in the small hours of the night. He reaches down to where its end sits at her waist- that precious space that he is now is allowed to lay a gentle hand upon when escorting her.

Without brushing against her dress, he slowly lifts the end of the braid up and runs the tip of it under his nose, inhaling deeply and smiling as if the most delicious food has just been set before him. He teases it across his own lips. Elsie is mesmerized. She cannot look away from the man in the mirror. His great, broad fingertips delicately unravel the plait, sliding each strand slowly away from its bed-mates before threading them in between his fingers and sliding down until it all flows out of his fingers and drops, lightly curled, onto the back of her silken dress again.

Both hands move slowly, up to the back of her neck, and without brushing his fingers to the pale skin he sees there, he reaches underneath the weight of her mane and lifts it away from her body. Finally. Finally- as in his dreams! He runs his hands through it, clasping large handfuls of it and letting it slide over his palms- again and again- smooth and strong like so many pieces of gently arching silverware.

He thinks of the times he has gazed into the golden lamp lit shine of the finest cutlery he has polished for the great house over the years- every day- days without number- and he has imagined her hair to have that same strength and smoothness in his fingers, but her hair was always forbidden to his touch. But now Charles knows its warmth against his palms, for he has always known that it could not be harsh or cool, and never rigid and unforgiving like a brightly hewn and polished knife, yet surely tonight Elsie's hair shines just as bright.

Like a knife. Sleek. Swift. He feels a sharp and piercing wound of ecstasy shoot through him as he senses that he is somehow holding all of Elsie's essence in the strands of her shining hair- running and falling through his hands. Running and flowing. Over and over- in a rhythmic dream of the senses. Strong- like Samson's strength- and soft. So, so soft. That softness which is Elsie's strength. And her hair- the fine embodiment of all that strength. Her essence personified in the tangible.

He is even closer now, and her hair is everything he has dreamed of across so many fevered and lonely nights on his too thin cot in the cold attic, the sheet stretched tight across him. He licks across his lips with a tentative tongue as he realises how close he is to having this dark and bright, silken waterfall draped over his bare chest. How close he is to seeing it fall to the front of her neck, now that it is free from its neat confines, and that it will lightly cloak her breasts as she sits astride him. He is now so close to having a smooth wall of her hair veil his face as she leans down to kiss him from above- over and over.

Elsie marvels at the way that Charles is luxuriating in the touch of her hair alone, for none of their skin has been in contact yet. Her breathing is shallow- she does not want to distract him. She holds her breath as he lifts a sheet of her thick hair and leans into it, breathing in its floral warmth like oxygen, rubbing it over his cheek and against his closed eyelids. The sight alone of his silent, soft reveling causes a heat grow in Elsie's belly, and a sting of sharp excitement sweeps outwards across her decolletage as her heart skips and stretches across a beat.

At the intake of her breath, Charles looks up into the mirror, sees her glittering blue eyes. Deep. Mouth slightly open. Breaths fast and light.

"Mr Carson," Elsie's voice gravels in her throat. She worries that she will break this spell, but somehow her low and sultry tone makes her next words sound incredibly seductive to Charles. "I never really took you much for a ladies maid."

His eyes alone show the slightest smile, and equally low, with a velveteen roughness, he speaks slowly, "I have performed many different roles across my years in service, Milady," he penetrates her gaze with his, "but I am now indentured solely to you. Allow me, if you please, to attend to all of your needs."

His breath is heavy and close and warm across the loosed hair on the back of her head. She shivers as he steps back and gestures towards Elsie's dressing room.

With the slightest of nods and eyes shimmering with desire and unlimited trust, Elsie steps further into the room.

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More on the weekend, I hope. Don't read on in these notes if you don't want the spell broken :)

A/N 1: quote shamelessly modified from Jane Eyre, when Jane meets Rochester unexpectedly in the fields, as she returns to Thornfield after her trip to Gateshead.

A/N 2: Charles tapping his feet to the beat of the carriage is also shamelessly stolen! This time from Fred Astaire in Top Hat (1935), when he commandeers a Hansom cab as he tries to woo the Ginger Rogers character.

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*The next A/N is quite off topic for this fic/chapter. Don't feel obliged to read it- I am just sharing some info that happens to fascinate me…

A/N 3: This is for any who might want a character for the hotel floor butler, which I didn't go to the bother of describing in this fic- as it is too brief a scene. Or otherwise, just visualise your own hotel floor butler and insert as needed! However, I cannot help but share the love as I visualise one of the stock camp servant characters that Eric Blore played in any of the following films with Fred Astaire and more often than not, Ginger Rogers- only because I have gone down that whole Astaire pathway in the first place! Anyway- these are fun characters to look out for in the following films- if you are interested.

The Head Waiter in Flying Down to Rio (1933)

Waiter in swanky Brighton beach hotel- The Gay Divorcee (1934) (and also in the stage 1930 stage version)

Bates, (Quote: "Good Evening, Sir. We are Bates.")- Manservant to Edward Everett Horton's equally camp and bumbling character, Horace Hardwick in Top Hat (1935)

Gordon- (who merely thinks he runs a dance school) in Swing Time (1936)

Cecil Flintridge the Hotel Floor Butler in Shall We Dance (1937)

Jackson the Butler in The Sky is the Limit (1943).- His classic line: "Yes, if I weren't such a gentleman's gentleman, I could be such a cad's cad."

Eric Blore actually managed to craft a very busy career in film out of these sorts of stock characters. Well done to him I say – not everyone can be the leading man and these parts add texture to a whole piece, even if they are clichéd- but hey – what is musical comedy if not a series of clichés?

….Ok… so it probably doesn't really fit in with this fic at all come to think of it!- and this is really just me spouting on about stuff that interests me!...

Anyway, these closet –homosexual characters are still important and surreptitious disruptions of the Haye's Code that tried to stop any really juicy stuff appearing in flicks for so many years in the Golden Age of Hollywood.

These closet homosexual characters are generally drawn as one-dimensional effete and/or bumbling pansies at best, and are used shamelessly as light comic relief. However, it can also be argued that these characters' inclusions in films were a way to bolster (probably quite unconsciously) the visions of masculinity that the American public wanted post WW1 and the Great Depression/ Dustbowl era- when the vigour of manhood had led only to brutal destruction, and was then further undermined by the loss of work, land, and livelihoods. The placing of these characters may be particularly fitting for Fred Astaire, who is not a classically strong leading man in either voice or stature, or even facial features- and (Lord above!)- he is a man who also dances! So, these stock characters can help the public view FA as more manly and virile by offering an even more effeminate and often incompetent contrast. Also, the clichéd pansy characters can never act as rivals for the leading lady's affections (see the film doco The Celluloid Closet (1995) for more info on the presentation of diverse sexuality on film).

**See? You just gotta dig a little into the light fluff sometimes to find a bit of depth and even darkness. I do love these nuances of films of the age, though.

Despite the Haye's code limitations on films of the era, it is still lucky for us that Fred and Ginger were making love on screen through their sizzling and stylish dance routines the whole time! Seriously- get onto watching these classics! The whole gender roles and courtship rituals between the two are fascinating- far more nuanced than Fred relentlessly chasing a girl until she finally gives in. Some of the dances build a genuine equality, and mutual give and take of affection/ admiration of the others skills and charms- Isn't it a Lovely Day to Be Caught in the Rain from Top Hat (1935) immediately springs to mind here. See John Meuller's thorough book on Astaire Dancing for scene by scene break downs of every film dance he performed-(if you really start getting into this sort of thing a lot… like me!). Arlene Croce has also examined the films of Rogers and Astaire in detail (The Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers Book)

The article that has been really most influential in my thinking about these things can be found here- especially the gender and great depression stuff, but touches on the camp side-kick characters too.

To cite this article: MARGARET T. McFADDEN (2008) Shall We Dance?: Gender and

Class Conflict in Astaire-Rogers Dance Musicals, Women's Studies: An inter-disciplinary

journal, 37:6, 678-706, DOI: 10.1080/00497870802205225

To link to this article: 10.1080/00497870802205225

***Just get onto Fred and Ginger films at the very least. In fact, watch them before you read that last article- just enjoy it for what it is! I am just one of those weird people who likes to pull apart the toy later to understand how it all works- and that increases the pleasure in itself… sounds a bit like fan fiction writing hey?!

But do go and see why Fred and Ginger were the megastars of the 1930s and why people would applaud loudly after every dance on screen in the movie cinema, and pay to see their films multiple times -they are truly mesmerising, and we have not seen their like anywhere since, in my opinion.

OK- Plug finished! ….I think…

;P