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praying no one noticed his burning cheeks of embarrassment.
    The whole sorry incident was briefly shown on TV that night but with the commentator’s voice running over the film so all you saw was the MP cuddling Sammy and you never heard his words. Through it, Sammy became something of a cause celebre in his hometown, with all the kids at his school treating him as a major figure, ‘because he was on telly,’ until three weeks later the MP was returned to Parliament with an increased majority and everyone forgot the incident and got on with their lives. No doubt the bug of holding centre stage had been planted in the young one from that point on because whenever you saw him you couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by his ability to walk in to any public place and have everything revolve around him and not vice versa, which is how it runs for the majority.
    â€˜Easy Sammy,’ I said, putting away my book, ‘how goes it?’
    â€˜Not too well Mr. DJ man,’ he replied, sitting down next to me and smiling ever so graciously at the lady opposite who was obviously taken with his attire and demeanour.
    â€˜The Loved One is on my case again.’
    â€˜Trouble with your gal?’
    â€˜She tells me that I pay more attention to dancing than I do her and soon she will walk if I do not change my ways.’ He shrugged his shoulders.
    â€˜But she’ll come round. I knows it.’
    What’s fascinating about Sammy is that the man’s true vocation is not really dancing, although God knows he is a right little Nureyev when he gets going, but it is the art of acting that he has truly mastered. This is his main strength and the reason for my take on him came one night when, in an unguarded moment, he led me through the rhyme and reasons of his life. When Sammy quit Yeovil in his teens, the only offer of a job being at the helicopter factory, he arrived in the Capital knowing neither friend or foe, a major problem for a lot of faces who descend from the hinterlands looking to escape the dull local action of pubs, fights, marriage, mortgage, kids and death. In Sammy The Foot’s case, the idea of hosting a TV show had grabbed him the strongest, a wish no doubt stemming from the infamous MP incident and with that view in mind, Sammy quit home and made for the Capital.
    Shocked and troubled at first by the impersonal nature of this city, Sammy spent his first few months in a miserable bedsit, signing on and aimlessly wandering around town looking for a friendly face, going to bed at night not a little scared, until one day it dawned on him that if London was not to come to Sammy, why then, he must go to London and grab it by the scruff of the neck. Jazz music being his first love, a condition brought about by his mother’s pre-occupation with be-bop, Sammy sought out the underground jazz clubs and spent hours leaning against a wall, memorising the moves he witnessed on the dancefloor. Nighttime, at home, he would, much to the annoyance of the neighbour below him, practise these moves for hours on end whilst during the day he scoured the Oxfam shops for suitable gears, knowing full well that when he made his entrance into the life, his eccentric gears style would instantly set him apart. He would also, he recognised, have to hide that part of his nature which was shy and retiring so that he would always exude poise and confidence, qualities that everyone is instantly attracted to if only because they wish some of it to rub off on themselves. Come the day that Sammy The Foot took to the dancefloor, it was with such style and grace that within weeks people were checking for this strangely dressed but brilliant mover and gravitating towards him. Sammy The Foot played his part, coming on mysterious, whetting people’s appetites and all the time building up contacts. In no time at all, he had secured a relationship with a well off gal from the Surrey countryside and moved in with her but his