heads, shoulders, knees and. . .

and no, I'm not going to launch into a song about Mother Brown. . .
.

knees-up just reminds me of dreadful family parties, held in village halls; great aunts, who should know better, trying to recapture the spirit of The Blitz; small children escaping kisses by hiding under fold-out tables covered in cheap cloths - sitting cross-legged, eating piles of sandwiches from which they've extracted and discarded the parts of the filling that they don't like; teenagers feeling awkward and embarassed and wishing the floor would open up and swallow them; the moaning Minnis in the kitchen, making endless pots of tea whilst serving the barely warmed up sausage rolls, then sweeping-up and mopping-up the bunting that has fallen down from the walls and become mushed into a pile of crisps knocked out of a bowl onto the floor and there mixed with spilt orange squash spilt from a plastic jug because Susan couldn't pour straight on account of her shaking hands - yes, she inherited that from his side of the family - whilst complaining that noone else is pitching in, but not accepting any offers of help with the washing-up or clearing away; the mad uncle in the corner trying to add generations to his family tree, laid out on five pieces of scrappy paper tentatively stuck together with ageing peeling sticky tape, which is missing the branch where grandfather on mother's side should have a half sister who married Jim. . .
.

. . .and for some reason they all end up singing and dancing to a slightly confused rendition of The Oke-Koke
.

sorry. . . where was I?
I haven't a clue!

(no change there, then)

I hope you know where you are today
and that you like being there