Whether you like it or not, Cambridge is not renowned for its amazing clubbing scene, and for some it’s infamous at best. Clubbing is perfect if you want to have a long night out, occasionally meet people, and is of course a great excuse for a midnight feast (R.I.P. Gardi’s), but not for dancing. In my experience, without the help of large quantities of tequila, the club murders the groove and awkwardly shuffles on its grave. How come ‘going out dancing’ involves no dancing at all?

The death of the dance hall is one I’ve witnessed to the rotting stage in my hometown too. For decades after its opening in 1925, The Palais was an institution in Nottingham; one of the best dance halls outside London. Over time, it became a nightclub, and fell down the wayside, closing down in recent years after a stabbing outside, a rumoured floor infused with chlamydia, and a general lack of interest. Last year, it reopened with the original name and dance hall / event space ethos.

“I am campaigning for good old-fashioned boogying to be resurrected from the days of disco”

Perhaps following the decline of rave culture, which seems to have found more of its place at gigs and music festivals, a case for a night out purely to dance should be made in The Palais’s example? I love dancing, and by no means do I have any rhythm (my idea of a routine is just contorting my wrists at various angles, with an occasional spin), but our reluctance to dance and dance well seems a big loss.I am campaigning for good old-fashioned boogying to be resurrected from the days of disco. Obviously this is made harder by the lack of bell-bottoms and vast quantities of cocaine, so I went, on a friend’s recommendation, to the Cambridge Cuban Salsa Society with the aim to actually, properly dance on a night out.

“I had just downed two margaritas for courage”

Ironically often in Revs, the Cuban Salsa Society offers evening dance lessons on a regular basis. On my first visit, I was terrified. I had come with a group of friends, but soon found that the dance circle would be much broader than expected. The session started with a group dance – we all stood in a muddle and copied the instructors’ moves. Everyone seemed to get it instantly, and I was tripping over myself, completely out of my comfort zone. Just as I started to get the steps, the instructors split into three groups of varying skill. I had just downed two margaritas for courage and got whiplash from the break-neck pace of teaching. In the beginner group, we were taught the basic beats and steps, going around the circle, everyone dancing with everyone. I started out awkwardly; how much conversation can you make whilst trying not to twist someone’s arm (I stubbornly and stupidly chose to lead, believing myself the peak of feminism without acknowledging how completely inept I was), and about to change partners in the next fifteen seconds? Every time we stopped I prayed the instructor didn’t pick me to demonstrate, transported back to the horrors of Year 9 P.E. lessons.

As the hour went on, however, I got more comfortable and less self-conscious. I just focused on my feet and stopped lamenting how awful I was to everyone I danced with. The teaching finished and there was a final social period dedicated to dancing and chatting as you wanted. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the girl who invited me, just moved up to the intermediate group, swirling around the room with one of the instructors. She was a complete novice when she started, but she almost looked professional by the end.

“Everyone was moving and moving creatively, communicating to each other in those movements”

Practicing the steps to the salsa music, (finally something with a beat coming out of Rev’s speakers!) I felt a change in myself too. Unlike my own hackneyed moves, I was moving in the song’s design. I knew exactly what to do, and because what I was doing was in a way, mechanical, automatic, I could just flow into the music. This was by no means a unique discovery, but it was exponentially more satisfying than trying to shake it up in the club. Everyone was moving and moving creatively, communicating to each other in those movements, but it was accessible to all and completely unpretentious.

If I’ve learnt one thing from my actual Dancer-with-a-capital-D friends, it’s that dancing is first and foremost about performance and expression. Of course the awkwardness of explicitly getting up and trying to move beautifully is what prevents people from dancing in the club, a houseparty, or the kitchen, but that awkwardness is the point. You’re daring to make room for yourself, even if that means (accidentally!) elbowing some sweaty gargantuan standing behind you. From my visit to the Cuban Salsa Society, as well as the more informal music events around Cambridge (Clare Cellars, La Raza), I found that there really is merit to the dance hall’s practice of dancing like everyone’s watching, and taking it in your stride.