Shirley and I were walking on Sunday on the hills above Bollington near Macclesfield, a pleasant stone-built industrial village strung along a valley among abandoned silk mills. In the car park we came across a poster for a village hop to be held on 18 February. The band – not one we know – is a Liverpool rock ensemble who play with a touch of Mexican in their music; or so I understand. We thought we would give them a go, and so today I’ve bought tickets.

Shirley and I have a habit of picking up events on the fly from posters on village notice boards, or chip shop windows or pasted to telegraph polls. Dances, amateur plays or antiques fairs, it doesn’t much matter – though we have a weakness for French country dances. Being unexpected, they seem like life’s free gifts.

At the age of 64, we probably look faintly ridiculous as we jive vigorously across the floor of a market or church hall. When I can get away with it, I like to wear two-tone shoes.

Shirley likes to tango.