unearths some literary gems.
The one I just finished takes place among competitive ballroom dancers:
On the other side, looking straight out at us, clearly engaged in a tango . . . were “Miss Tweetie Bird and Mr Roland Wentworth” . . . . Caught in stasis by the camera, however, they looked as though they were trying to share a golf club during a tricky putt.
Tweetie and Roly were cheek-to-cheek, or temple to jaw anyway given the disparity in their heights, and they prowled around with their joined hands stuck out in front of them like two people trying to reach the top note on the same trombone.
Another dancer is described as "an enormously tall fellow with a lot of knees and elbows, giving him the look of an umbrella outwitted by a high wind."
Also present is a high official (Mr Silvester) who represents a couple of dancing-related associations, which are abbreviated to strings of initials that the protagonists have trouble remembering correctly. Thus,
I explained to him that her solicitor fiancé was unaware of her connection to the Locarno and the Championship and would not sue Mr Silvester or any of his strings of initials if he simply showed her the door.
And I like the specificity of this image:
One could have bottled the electricity in the room and taken it camping to boil a kettle.