I don’t often feel like dancing anymore. The children are at the age where they prefer it if I don’t as well… Still, I like this song and I like it even more because it is definitely a tune to sit in a chair to (optional: nursing a drink and one’s war of life wounds). It also has a Maxwell’ish’ vibe to it, which is all to the good.
Friday night might have to be renamed.
Feierabend: my own literal translation – celebration of evening, also translated as knocking off time, done and dusted, clocking off.
Goodness knows –
I won’t be dancing
this Friday night,
Perhaps it will look like this…
wafted across towards the paddock on the Rowley Mile yesterday. If I am to be found singing along to a song outside one of the food and drink outlets when I am racing it means one of two things. I am not in front; I like the song. And I suppose, it could mean both.
Anyway, count yourselves lucky its not David Guetta (it is Friday night after all).
Hang on, it is Friday night. Well then, David Guetta it is – I am not that ancient, yet. The other will have to wait.