Is Scottish reeling the route to romance?

‘Remember to flirt outrageously.’ This essential piece of advice is imparted courtesy of Country and Town House magazine for its readers curious about Scottish reeling. The reel, a social folk dance, dates back to 16th-century Scotland and has remained popular for all this time, notwithstanding a brief hiatus in the 17th century when the Scots Covenanters assumed the stance (rightfully, some might say) that such amusement leads to mischief leads to sin.

Less curious about the dancing than the flirtation, I joined some friends for the final, sweaty session of the season at London Reels. The group meets in St Columba’s church in Knightsbridge on the second Tuesday of each month – which I know, even as an outsider, because I look forward to their ensuing gossip on the second Wednesday of each month.

In normal bars, pubs or clubs, you might save yourself time and disappointment by looking for a wedding band before laying the flirtation on in full. There’s hardly a need here – better to look for a signet ring before wasting your breath. Reeling, from what I can tell, is an unofficial hunting ground for single young men and women of the leisure class looking for partners with similarly discerning tastes and an appreciation for ‘heritage’ – imagine it as the Radio H-P of speed dating. Originally a pastime of the aristocracy, Scottish reeling has managed to become democratised without being considered non-U. It welcomes commoners, Americans, anyone really – except, of course, the Scots.

There was a clamminess in the air of St Columba’s lower hall, and it wasn’t just from the hot weather. The dusty stage, pastel dresses, pitchers of cloudy lemonade and folding chairs along the walls reminded me of those awkward years of Sunday school. The only difference was that most people here seemed to be somewhere in their twenties.

Before the first reel began, people were already scrambling to find partners for every dance on the setlist. ‘I’ve already been asked by ten girls to find a partner for them,’ a friend complained when I begged him for help. ‘I’ve been asked by ten girls to be their partner,’ another friend said. He wasn’t boasting – if anything, he looked more troubled by this responsibility than flattered. One has to choose partners tactfully, mitigating jealousy while playing the field. In his iPhone Notes app, he typed furiously, deleted and typed again, cutting and compiling a roster of women.

By the end of the first reel, I was too distracted by all the dress shirts drenched with sweat to feel amorous. Luckily, next up was Hamilton House, the ‘flirting’ dance. Four couples line up facing each other, men on one side, women on the other. The first lady spurns her partner, ‘flirts’ with the second man by ‘setting’ – they do a little jig and clap their hands – then ditches him and spins around with the third. But her lonely lad decides he’ll give her a taste of her own medicine. He ‘flirts’ with ladies two and three before he and his original partner end up face to face and suddenly forget about all the rest. They spin and spin and spin and everyone joins hands and skips around in a circle and does it all over again about eight more times. Really gets you in the mood.

Ignoring the fact that my palms were coated in a cocktail of several people’s sweat, I was enjoying myself. A generously poured paper cup of red wine, downed quickly between each dance, certainly didn’t hinder my enthusiasm. But finding partners was exhausting, more than the dancing itself. I tried measuring this feeling against the most comparable experience I’ve had in London – tapping through Hinge. Both involved doing the prosaic and somewhat depressing work of surveying your options, then making small talk with a few and getting close with even fewer. But reeling isn’t overtly romantic in the way a dating app is. Dancing in a pair is couple-y, technically, but there’s nothing to say it’s inherently intimate, the way going on a date or even just going out is. It’s fair to assume that sweaty twenty-somethings in a nightclub are trying to get with each other, but what about when they’re in a church?

We soon swapped the church for a bar, where the reelers continued swinging each other around on the dancefloor as an Elvis impersonator gyrated on stage. I noticed that distinct couples were forming and asked a reeling regular what he thought about the dating scene. Was I witnessing something intimate? Or was this just friendly fun? ‘If you’re interested in someone, it’s an open market,’ he answered. ‘Take your pick.’

My interest remained scientific rather than personal. The endeavour of finding someone at reeling had started to resemble those mating dances you see on the National Geographic channel – except instead of flashy feathers, the brightest shade of salmon trousers wins the bird.

As people made their way home, some alone and others not, I reminded myself of the quote from the film Pride and Prejudice, where Darcy asks Elizabeth Bennett what she recommends to encourage affection: ‘Dancing. Even if one’s partner is barely tolerable.’ It’s possible that the regulars, like Darcy and Lizzie, had grown on each other through dancing, despite their differences. But it’s more likely that a set of shared social and cultural values made them predisposed to liking and wanted to be liked by each other.

If I’m not selling the appeal of reeling, don’t despair – there are still plenty of other places around London to meet people. It’s only that, for those of us who can’t move bar-side conversations along with mentions of a Chelsea townhouse or country home, we’ll have to make do with charm and charisma to reel them in.