Guilty! While cooking, I listen many different CDs. One is a collection of Brazilian dancey music and I find myself “Dad-dancing” to the bloody thing. Well, Dad-dancing with those bits of the Dad which will still move. The tunes are so infectious that it is an entirely involuntary, instinctive thing. Don’t even know I’m doing it most of time until Mrs T comes into kitchen, guffaws loudly and then giggles her way out of room.
I have made an appointment with GP to get it sorted.