My vintage polka-dot dress swishes elegantly as my partner James delicately turns me to his left. We parade forward, looking every inch like Fred and Ginger, and onlookers gasp and clap admiringly. The girls want to be me and the men want to be with me. I am single-handedly evoking the spirit of the 1920s' dance scene.
Well, not quite. In reality I screech in an unladylike fashion as James propels me roughly in the right direction. My skirt flies up and my Primark shoe nearly falls off. Nearby dancers swerve to avoid us, and as I surreptitiously wipe the sweat from my forehead I completely lose the beat and have to stop in the middle of the dancefloor for a good 10 seconds.
Luckily, this is just the rehearsal for the Waldorf Hilton's Tango Tea. James has been kind enough to go through some "basic" steps with me before the real thing in an hour's time.
The real thing is taking place for the first time in more than 20 years. Once one of the most popular events on London's social calendar, the Tango Tea, held in the Hilton's Palm Court was the toast of the 1920s, with people coming from miles around. However, popularity waned over the years and it stopped completely in the 1970s.
But the good news is that dancing is back in fashion. In fact, we can't get enough of it. So the Tango Tea has been resurrected and is already more popular than ever.
Due to start regularly again in September, and timed to coincide with the hotel's centenary next year, visitors will get the chance to experience some 1920s glamour along with a champagne tea and live jazz band.
Simply dancing
The event is being organised by Simply Dancing Partners, set up last year by amateur enthusiast Jenni Kravitz to provide dancing lessons and, crucially, partners for keen beginners.
"In London generally there isn't all that much going on," says Ms Kravitz. "All the ballrooms got killed off due to lack of interest so even if you decide to take it up, you're stuck for where to use it and have to wait for a corporate event or a wedding."
She adds: "The purists will say there are lots of tea-dances but they tend to be populated by a particular type of person and situated in far-flung places. There is really nothing for the likes of us, centrally located."
A fan though I am of all things 1920s, and desperate to taste the champagne tea, I must confess to a fair amount of trepidation. It's no joke when I say I have two left feet. In fact I am so bad, that at a misguided audition for West Side Story when I was 18 (I can't dance but I can sing), I was asked if I knew there was dancing in the show too.
But, despite being faced with a heart-sinking sea of arms held like little teapots, everyone going the right way, on arrival I am made to feel extremely welcome and praised each time I manage not to step on James's toes. I even nearly believe him when he says I am picking it up and I pretend to ignore the grateful look in his eyes when we are asked to change partners. A tall dashing man comes over and asks me to dance.
Unfortunately I am rooted to the spot and I grab James desperately murmuring, "Tell him, tell him about my problem". James fends him off and, to his well-concealed disappointment, remains with me. We try an Argentinian tango, which is surprisingly easy. The hard bit is sticking with the beat. I'm not entirely sure about the "tango legs" (I am convinced my shoe will fly off again if I kick my leg too hard) but at least it's not too fast.
To my dismay I have been placed at a table with a world tango expert, her impossibly beautiful goddaughter and two women who laughingly say, "I can't dance!" then leap up and, with no embarrassment, do the jive with complete strangers.
However, thanks to James, I have a cha-cha up my sleeve. Despite an extensive musical background and a perceived air of authority on the subject – being a music journalist and all – I listen in vain for what might be a cha-cha until James comes and gets me. And we're off. I have, by now, had a few glasses of champagne so my inhibitions have been reduced a fair bit.
Unfortunately, with the champagne came strawberry tarts so there is more of me than there was in the rehearsal but James struggles on, valiantly.
Tango love
It's a hit. I get most of the steps right and surprise myself. Later, some of Kravitz's dancers do some display dances. There's a particularly sexy rumba with considerably fewer clothes than would have been on display 80-odd years ago. The men avert their eyes in embarrassment and the women gawp with disbelief as she contorts her nearly-naked body into a series of moves to die for.
No sooner have I sat down than the tango expert drags me out on to the floor. "B… b… but I haven't done a tango," I stammer.
"Just do what I say," she hisses like a Latin dominatrix and, hand on my waist, proceeds to move me like a puppet round the room. If I hadn't had so much champagne there is no way I would be whirling round in such a Sapphic manner at one of London's leading hotels but, hey, Gertrude Stein probably did it. I am only being historically accurate.
Though mainly terrifying, the Tango Tea has given me a taste for more. I fully intend to sign up for lessons when I get home. And roll on September, for I shall be back in full force, flapper dress, tango legs and all.
· More information on Tango Teas at the Hilton is at Simply Dancing Partners.
