No means no! Being forced to do something, anything, against your will is rightly frowned upon and socially unpalatable. However, for some godforsaken reason, this unwritten rule seems to go out of the window when it comes to dancing. At weddings, in the knowledge that I can’t throw a shape, there is always a semi-drunken minor relative who takes it upon themselves, generally when Dexys or Queen arrive, to manically grab my arm and roughhouse me toward the dancefloor. As the sweat beads off their brow and they flirt with coronary failure, they hoist the victim from their inert state onto the mock oak laminate. The instigator proceeds to jig out of synch in a less than sensual manner whilst beckoning you frantically toward them to embrace public humiliation. Once upright, and feeling suitably mortified, all eyes bear down as you are roundly mocked for your vacuous contribution to the art of dance.

People who cannot dance should not dance, much the same as people who cannot crochet should not crochet. It was with this in mind that I watched in horror our leader, Theresa May, lose control in Africa and dance like a drug addled baboon on Red Bull. Not just once did she fail to pull it off, but she went back for round two, thus usurping her waltzing through a corn field as the foolhardiest thing she has ever done.

I’m not sure what it was meant to represent. The first attempt was like the Peter Crouch robot, all legs and arms and more legs, as I missed my mouth while trying to multi-task by eating while watching the 6 o’clock news. Hoping the world's media would not overplay her folly (they did), she then followed it up a few days later with a bizarre representation of Mr Burns off the Simpsons as she contorted her face into a strange concoction of pain and pleasure. It was unnerving and her advisors need to be a lot more forthright in their insistence that she stops making a fool out of the nation while the Brexit negotiations are still in limbo and we need to at least look like serious players.

Statespeople and leaders should be dignified, stout and respected. It takes little for their reputations to be tarnished and their stock to sink faster than the Titanic through self-inflicted mishaps that are more Mr Bean than Rowan Atkinson.

Neil Kinnock famously fell into the sea at Brighton in 1983 before nearly upper cutting his wife Glynis as he failed to style it out. That was the final nail in his leadership coffin, only upstaged by Ed Miliband some years later, who spectacularly failed to eat a bacon sandwich with gravitas, and then fell off a stage, taking his political career with it.

It is rare for a leader to do something embarrassing that leaves us minions applauding their misdemeanours and making them almost likeable. John Prescott, despite the lunatic policies and militant tendencies, managed to enamour himself to the populus by two jabbing a protestor who threw an egg in his direction. Bojo, the most colourful buffoon-like politician of the modern era, has a litany of embarrassing misdemeanours on which to draw. Being abandoned on a high wire as he waved a Union jack while the harness chafed his under carriage, was beaten by his slide tackling a seven-year-old boy during a school football kickabout photocall. Only recently, he came out of his country pile laden with tea and biscuits for the waiting journos dressed as Compo from Last of the Summer Wine.

As for May: I would urge her party members to give her an ultimatum: dance again and you're out. It is embarrassing, makes you look like a fool and lacks cool. She’s no Obama, who is the only political figure who can throw a shape and carry it off with panache. She should stick to what she is good at, whatever that may be, and leave the dancing to those that can. As for me, I have a wedding next week. I plan to lube up by forearms so that Auntie Gladys, after a few babychams, is foiled. As she bears down on me to drag me to the dancefloor, my plan is for her to go flying as I covertly film it and earn myself a healthy £250 You’ve Been Framed bonus. In my place, when asked who wants to dance, I may respond ‘Theresa may, but then again, maybe not….’