I’m still not sure what I did to offend the tango gods, but it seems to have been something rather major. They laid on a fortnight-long perfect storm of events to spoil my tango fun – going so far as to throw in an actual storm.

Even The Feast wasn’t entirely immune this time …

The tango gods do their worst

The adventure began with the Reading Tango Festival. I’d not been before, and was looking forward to experiencing a new event, but didn’t get any further than the Friday evening.

What ruined the rest of that weekend had nothing to do with tango, but the resulting stress and sleeplessness put paid to any hope of attending the rest of the festival. Fortunately, I can just about see the light at the end of that particular tunnel, even if it might be a few months distant.

The following weekend saw the embassy milonga – usually one of my favourite events. But this one was sold out, so had the regrettable combination of very crowded floors and London floorcraft levels. I witnessed so many collisions as I checked out the floors on arrival that I was expecting traffic police to cone off the floor.

I pride myself on my evasive manoeuvres in such situations, but after I got hit twice and one of my followers once (the worst I’ve ever experienced), I decided that nothing short of SAS levels of escape and evasion were going to help; I left after only 90 minutes.

Still, the following weekend was The Feast, so I knew I had BsAs-like dancing and floorcraft to come. Only … the tango gods weren’t done yet.

I’d managed to book the only train to Paignton on Thursday that wasn’t cancelled by Storm Ciarán – until I was at the station, and GWR cancelled that one too. They made very vague suggestions about possibly being able to get me to somewhere in the southwest at some point, but when those attempts started to fall apart, I decided to officially give up on the day and try again on Friday. That cost me a milonga with one of my all-time favourite DJs, Michael Cummings.

Friday morning came – as did points failure outside Paddington. But eventually, via a somewhat indirect route, I made it! I headed over for the last couple of hours of the afternoon milonga to dance … exactly one (very lovely) tanda before muscle cramps hit. I tried to ride it out, but things weren’t improving – and the psychological pain of listening to Hector Espinosa’s wonderful tandas without being able to dance them added to the physical pain.

I was back in action for the Friday evening, but were the tango gods finally done? Nope! The music was relentlessly rhythmical and mono-tonal in feel. OTV at 11pm? One Troilo tanda all night?? No Pugliese at all??? (Certainly not by midnight, when I gave up.)

But the wonderful thing about The Feast is that the social side is every bit as good as the dancing. So it was mostly an evening of chatting with my fellow grumblers, with bits of dancing here and there. That, too, was like being back in BsAs – where a milonga is as much a social occasion as a dance, and in Devon I didn’t have to stretch my Spanglish to the limit!

The tango gods become my friends again

My own dance feast, then, effectively began on Saturday afternoon! But the tango gods finally decided I’d suffered enough, and transported me from tango hell to heaven.

DJing was shared between Stania Diifiey and Richard Slade, and I couldn’t have asked for better music. The flow of soft rhythmical and silky-smooth lyrical tandas was just a joy. Almost every tanda pulled me from my chair (admittedly the milonga tandas mostly doing so in the direction of the tea station, but that wasn’t the fault of the music).

As always at the Feast, the followers are amazing. Collaborative dance is the norm, ranging in degree from toe-taps to add a rhythmical layer to my lyrical lead, through to me doing more following than leading – and I loved every moment of it!

Even dancing as much as I was, there wasn’t a hope of dancing with everyone I had in my sights, but that truly is the very finest of first world problems.

I enjoy a good mix of dancing with known and new followers, even if I can’t always be sure which is which. But it included some first-time Feasters, all appearing to be solid converts. Interestingly, two regulars each told me in what I think were successive tandas that they felt like it had taken a number of Feasts to find their tango home there, and this weekend was when it happened.

I was too busy leading to do any real following, but I did want at least a taste, so persuaded a dual-role dancer to lead me a milonga tanda on the practice floor. She protested she’d never led milonga before, and tried to swap roles, but I promptly swapped back … My attempts to follow a cross at milonga speeds were unsuccessful, but I think the rest wasn’t terrible, and I really enjoyed it!

The tango documentary had clearly made an extended tour of Feast dancers around the country, as I lost track of the number of people who came up to me to say kind things about it.

I danced the penultimate tanda with a friend who very much falls into 50/50 dance territory, and it was a delight. I decided that unless the last tanda was something I absolutely had to dance, then I would have that end my afternoon. Richard cooperated by ending with a rather rhythmical tanda, so I happily changed my shoes.

By this time, it was hard to work out whether I was more hungry or tired! I really wanted to crash into bed, but I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so managed to stay awake long enough to have a very enjoyable dinner with Malvika and Ameya, joined a little later by Alan and Stella.

After that, I really needed a nap. A wise tanguero sets an alarm when napping, but I simply fell into bed and was asleep a few microseconds before my head hit the pillow. I woke sometime later, looked at my watch, and it was 11pm. I figured that by the time I’d had a cup of coffee, showered and dressed, it would be 11.30pm by my first tanda – and given a choice between 90 minutes of tired dance and more sleep, I opted for the latter.

That decision proved a wise one, and I felt refreshed by the next day.

The afternoon milonga was DJ’d by Paul Rogers and David Prime, and it was like a carbon copy of the previous day. I again adored almost* all the music; danced almost every non-milonga tanda; and had non-stop dreamy dances.

*I do suspect some of David Prime’s ‘surprise’ tandas contravene international law. His final tanda included the Disturbed cover of The Sound of Silence, which I enjoy listening to, but had not the slightest clue how to dance. I made this observation during the inter-milonga pizza party, adding “as Malvika can attest.” She didn’t attempt even a token protest, merely nodding.

Speaking of surprises, too many DJs try to impress dancers with unknown songs – the vast majority of which are unknown for very good reasons. But David has a decided knack for finding actual hidden gems. This included a Pugliese song I don’t think I’d ever heard before. Fortunately I was dancing the tanda with a partner who was fully up for the challenge, and I think between us we did it justice.

Oh, and while on the topic of TDJ musical tastes, is it International Tanturi Appreciation Month, and nobody told me? Don’t misunderstand me – I love some Tanturi songs, and it’s of course perfectly normal to play the big hits like La Vida Es Corta, but I think every DJ played at least one tanda of some of the less-played Tanturi songs. Ivan told me that the same has been true in London milongas for the past few weeks.

The re-run of Saturday afternoon even included another tanda of following on the practice floor. This one wasn’t a milonga but a very simple rhythmical tanda, so the next best thing. Sue leads lots of interrupted steps and fast weight-changes, so kept me on my toes! Again, it was great fun.

The afternoon absolutely whizzed by, and – aside from an hour out for a beautiful private with Mabel – I danced almost every non-milonga/non-surprise tanda.

The final milonga

If the afternoon had been the final milonga of the Feast, I’d have been perfectly content. But with just one more to go, I decided to summon up some energy from somewhere for a little gentle dancing into the night. I didn’t think I’d have the energy to dance ’til midnight, but a couple of hours with a mix of dance and chat felt like a good plan.

So yeah. I blame Fernando. At one point, I went up to lodge an official complaint: I’d been promising myself a rest for the last five tandas, and every single time his music had me springing instantly from my seat – despite by that point feeling like I was about 100 years old.

There was one tanda where I thought Fernando might be pulling a Prime on us, as the projector was updated for the following tanda to read ‘Q. Real Mix.’ Mixed tandas can be interesting at the best of times, but real mix sounded ominous indeed. And what was the Q? Questionable? I decided to stay glued to my seat.

The tanda began, and I didn’t recognise either the song or the orchestra, so I Shazammed it, to find that while it was a mixed tanda, the ‘Q. Real’ part related to two of the tracks being by the orchestra Quinteto Real …

The final evening is usually a bit quieter, as the more local people tend to head off home, but it seemed most people had stayed this time, and the floor remained buzzing throughout the night.

There was a chacarera at one point. It had been a while, and I couldn’t quite recall the structure, but it turned out I needn’t have worried: I was in good company!

By about 10pm-ish, I really didn’t think I could dance much longer. My brain was as tired as my feet, hips, core, and back. I was thinking perhaps it was time to say my goodbyes when Fernando announced ‘Last two tandas!’ WTF? I looked at my watch, and nope, it wasn’t 10pm, it was 11:40.

I danced the penultimate tanda, then had a target follower for the final one. I positioned myself strategically ready to cabeceo her when the tanda began. But I’d forgotten about the traditional Skyfall extended cortina, and somebody snagged her for that. Fortunately, the tango gods were now fully back on my side, as still seated at the same table was a follower I’d met and danced with for the first time that night, and we’d had a great time, so five seconds later I was on the floor with her for a tired but very lovely final dance.

With all the various tribulations, I’d thought the Feast would be quality over quantity, but no: it turned out to be both.