Roundabout
Foot-loose
`A-ONE: A-TWO: a-cha- cha-cha' said a passing voice with determined cheerfulness. The couples stamped and simpered
She was quite right. The instructors came in a wide range of styles : this was the only thing they had in common. Not for this discreet emporium the cheery ex-barmaid in purple sequins, heaving men impartially round the floor or through the swing doors. No flashy creatures in fluorescent socks, either. Instead there was the pretty girl in the bright dress and petticoats, the wholesome girl in a jersey and skirt, the genuinely ordinary girl in a cotton frock and cardigan, and all the men wore suits.
Proud of providing 'ballroom atmosphere,' Arthur Murray's, on the other foot, mercifully does better. Neither raucous youths with Coca- Cola bottles, nor schoolgirls in tulle banked like hydrangeas against the wall. But one instructor, one pupil : and well worth the high fees.
For decor, consult any good record shop or modern hotel. In the main room, a polished deck and an acoustic roof with floor-to-ceiling mirrors to give the luxury effect. The music came from a machine that had once been a juke-box—but a juke-box which had passed into the Civil Service and was now going straight.
In the cold blood of a winter afternoon it was hard to imagine what made them follow in the dance steps of Walter Pidgeon and Ingrid Berg- man, Bing Crosby and Katharine Hepburn, and ask Arthur Murray to teach them dancing in a hurry. One girl said she had never thought of taking lessons until the Arthur Murray people pin-pricked her undistinguished name frorri' the telephone directory with an offer of cut-rate lessons. One or two 'needed it for business' (what business?). Some were obviously at Chapter Four of How to Win Friends and Influence People. One elderly lady brightly confessed that she just liked dancing.• She looked and dressed rather like Mrs. Roosevelt, except .'for the pink peep-toed shoes. It was an awesome sight to see her in the toils of a tango, going down for the third time on the arm.. of an instructor only half her weight.
In a few small rooms, the over-timid could obtain instruction on their, own. There were a couple, smiles of heroic' enjoyment: plastered on their 'faces, 'being put 'through their paCeS 'by 'a stern-looking lady in black. An eye watched them occasionally through ,a'peep-hole. The guide reprovingly averted his, gazp,4We have, to have, peep-holes. Our instructors,' he explained deli- cately, 'are not allowed to atelheir pupils.' What about the scrumptious red-head in the peacock skirt dancing with a good-looking Ceylonese?, 'They are both instructors,' said the guide. 'Why don't you try? Here, I'll show you—A-one : a-two: a-must-you-leave?'
Fancy-free
WHETHER for eating, sitting, cleaning or sleeping, the Furniture Exhibition at Earls Court appears to have everything that could be desired for clean, contemporary and, they say, comfortable living. It is sponsored by the Daily Express which has on display an exhibit called 'Life in a Living Room.' This is a kind of window-box Kew Gardens, with cacti, tropical fish, flowering shrubs and a cage full of brilliant birds reproducing all the cackle, and six times the colour, of a newspaper office.
There is an unnerving variety of styles. The dining-room can be set out with a long, low table surrounded by a mob of chairs without a straight line in them, all in plastics so dazzling that sun- glasses would be needed when you ate. Or it can go weightily traditional with sombre, carved side- boards and ramrod chairs, plus an inescapable suggestion of an aged retainer doddering out of focus in the background.
One stand loudly proclaims that man has been sleeping wrongly for the last 2,000 years. Before the visitor has a chance to yawn, the publicity men rush on to prove that conventional mattresses are badly constructed to counter the shifting weight and stress of the body. They have their solution not only in mind but on sale; a substance much the same colour and texture as fudge, which boasts its sympathy to the give-and-take of any embrace. Drawing the biggest crowds was the Super-Bed, demonstrated by two comely, boudoir- trained models. This is really two beds in one, each independently adjustable for reading or eating. All possible mod, cons, are fitted, such as a radio, electric shaver, tape-recorder and television. Once in this, it would be difficult to imagine an excuse compelling enough for rising.
Upstairs in what are called 'transformation scenes,' rooms of a dinginess to make a Bayswater landlady cringe are stripped of their antimacas- sars, their love-lies-bleeding wallpapers and sagging chairs. With a wall knocked in here, a zipped-up lighting system there and some crisp, angular furniture everywhere, the result is a pic- ture of bargain-basement gracious living which is designed to lure even the most reluctant cheque- book to flop open.
There are gleaming kitchens that a television Martian would not disown, geared to run with a minimal amount of elbow-grease. Italian in- fluences are stronger than at any time since the Renaissance. One sitting-room with corner seats and stools looks as if it had been carted home asa souvenir from an espresso bar.
The wholesale buyers prowl about, easily recognisable by the slight look of disbelief on their faces and the practised hands they lay on the furniture. The salesmen hop round as lively as fleas though, of course, much more exclusive. The public gather in large clumps like slum- dwellers on a tour of a ducal palace—caught be- tween a gasp and a giggle.
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