It’s a warm Tuesday evening, and I’m weaving through the post-work crowd on Clapham High Street, caught somewhere between excitement and nerves. I’m on my way to my first-ever line dancing class, dressed in comfortable clothes and sensible shoes, and armed with a healthy dose of scepticism.
My curiosity started, oddly enough, in Texas. A visit to the Lone Star State left me with a lingering fascination for all things Western. At first, it was the usual, cowboy hats, boots, oversized belt buckles, the Americana of it all. Then I fell down a TikTok rabbit hole of line dancing videos. I was hooked.
But there was just one problem, I’m not exactly well-versed in country music. Sure, I love Dolly Parton (who doesn’t?), and I’ll nod along when a Kacey Musgraves track comes on, but beyond that, I’m out of my depth. I’d always assumed line dancing, so closely tied to country music and twangy guitars, was reserved for die-hard fans, which made the whole idea feel, well, a little daunting. Still, I didn’t let it put me off. I pushed past the hesitation, pulled out my phone and searched for line dancing classes in London.
That is how I came across the Cactus Club, an LGBTQ+ line dancing group that meets weekly at one of Clapham’s most iconic gay pubs. From the look of their Instagram, it was exactly what I was looking for. I sent a message and ended up on a call with Peter Flockhart, who runs the club. He was instantly warm and reassuring, “just come along,” he said. “We teach everything from scratch in the first hour, and no one takes themselves too seriously.” When I asked why he started the line dancing club in the first place, he simply replied, “Why not? If it worked in New York, why wouldn’t it work here?” When he launched the club in 1993, he was not interested in the traditional setup with men dressed as cowboys and women in gingham. Instead, he wanted to create a space where people could walk in off the street, no costume required, dance, and have a good time.
Before the session began, I caught up with Isla and Rachel, who’ve been coming to The Cactus Club for just over a year after a friend brought them along. “It’s fun, completely different from how I typically spend my day,” Aila said, adding that she loves meeting people she wouldn’t usually cross paths with. Rachel laughed, “You’re sweating by the end of the second hour,” but it’s more than just the workout that keeps them coming back. “There are people who’ve been coming for 32 years,” she pointed out. “I feel a little part of that.”
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Sasha, another regular, first discovered the club through another Cactus Club event. “I met a whole lot of very nice people,” she recalled. “They told me this was on too, so I joined.” What stood out to her was the warmth of the group. “It’s really good exercise, and everyone helps you learn the routines.” She initially came alone, and said the LGBTQ+ safe space made a real difference especially as a woman trying something completely new. Not long after, her mum Asha, who lives in Devon decided to join her.
The structure of the evening was perfect for a complete beginner like me. Peter guided the room through new routines, breaking each sequence down slowly and repeating it until we felt confident. I was so focused on getting the steps right, I barely noticed how much I was laughing and sweating by the end. Part of the club’s success lies in this structure, formal teaching at the start of the evening, followed by a few hours of dancing where people can put what they’ve learned into practice. The club welcomes beginners unlike other line dancing classes that might expect me to know the choreography beforehand. “We expect you to get up and have a go. I think that's made the process more interesting and inclusive. Even if they get it wrong, well, nobody cares.”
And the music? Not a single cowboy ballad in sight. Instead, we moved to Beyoncé, Ariana Grande, Ed Sheeran; pure pop, electronic, and high-energy. So why the mix of pop, dance, and Latin instead of country? Peter acknowledged that it’s about evolving with the scene. “It’s not really the trend anymore,” he noted. “There are various charts you can look at to see what dances are popular, and although there is some country in there, a lot aren’t. And a lot of the younger choreographers aren’t choreographing to country (music) anymore. So we’re just trying to follow that trend.” Ultimately, it comes down to giving people what they want. If he leaned heavily into country music, Peter believes he might attract a different crowd but not necessarily the one he’s hoping to reach. “We are aimed at the LGBT community,” he pointed out, “and the LGBT community is not known to be attracted to country music although there are definitely some LGBT country music stars, and we've incorporated some of those into the mix. People expect Kylie or Madonna or things like that, and we try to bring that in.”
At the end of the class, the next track came on and the regulars didn’t miss a beat. It was like their feet were speaking a secret language, turning, clapping, gliding across the floor with a muscle memory that made it all look effortless. It was mesmerising and yes, a little intimidating.
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As the crowd thinned out, I caught Melissa and Natasha on their way out. Both in their early twenties, they’ve been coming on and off since January. They told me they appreciate not having to think about anything other than what their feet were doing. “There's no pressure, no one's watching. You just can kind of be at whatever level and figure it out. Music's fun. It is a good giggle. That's what I like.” The inclusive atmosphere also stood out to them. “There's no way you could walk in and feel like you shouldn't be here. I love that there are so many ages because everyone is just lovely.”
Shy, one of the more experienced dancers has been attending for two years. He specifically looked for an LGBTQ+ class where he felt free to be himself. “I found something satisfying about stomping around with a bunch of strangers.” As a country music fan, he was initially surprised by the track list but that didn’t deter him “You can feel yourself getting better quite quickly too. After three or four lessons, things start to fall into place." Reflecting on the group’s dynamic, he pointed out how rare it is in London to connect across different age groups and backgrounds. “It brings you into contact with just different generations, and I think it's quite special for that reason as well.” Although dancing in a queer space wasn’t essential for him, he appreciated the freedom it offered. “The last thing you want to feel is people might be looking at you because you are gender non-conforming or whatever. So it just removes that feeling of otherness that you already have anyway by being a beginner.”
What I didn’t expect was how genuinely inviting the space would be. No judgment, no ego, no you’re doing it wrong, just encouragement, and the occasional gentle nudge in the right direction. It’s hard to explain the feeling of walking into a room full of strangers and instantly sensing community. I came looking to try something new or at the very least, leave with a good story. Instead, I found something entirely different, an inclusive space where people weren’t just dancing for fun, but for something deeper. A sense of connection and belonging.
