Yes, it was a very special evening. The one son, handsome, but less than me, some years back, getting married in a pictorious platteland environment. I sat there as an aging family member. Then they made a slight mistake. Suddenly Brian Adams started to sing. Like this. Like this.
So I got up. Walked to the dance floor on my very own. Then I invited the speaker above to be my momentous partner. And so we danced. Me and the speaker. Brian Adams got in second. Damn, a man with swanky hips and clicking thumbs…
One exploding in memory. And the one girl, actually a mature beaut of a woman, was just not there.
But damn, did I dance. Like it was 1969 again. Hi Kempton Park – go to bloody hell.
Brian, my hips and knees were just for a mere remembering moment roaring giants in the brevity of passing time. Boy, did I rock. Whabbub.
