Given the crowded conditions, I elected to restrict the turn combinations I would use, focusing instead on basic patterns and simple turns. I reckoned that my partner would appreciate my safeguarding her person. It was a sorry miscalculation.

As the music played on, a light of disappointment seemed to grow stronger in her eyes. It was obvious that she had expected us to burst into a flurry of spins that would cause the soles of our shoes to combust. For a brief moment I considered it. After all, there are only a handful of people on the globe (including yours truly) who can perform the insanely difficult "triple pirouette half twist whilst skinning a small rodent with the toes of the left foot" manoeuvre with any semblance of grace. However if we had done so, the collateral damage to nearby civilians would have brought immediate international reprisals.

I sighed and clung doggedly to my original plan, nimbly side-stepping other partnerships whose bombardment of the dance floor would have done NATO proud.

The end of the song drew upon us and we politely parted. We bore, I am certain, our own burdens of disappointment: she for my gross inadequacy in the spinning department, and myself in her not realising that I had saved her the indignity of more than a dozen bruises to various parts of her anatomy.

It was a stark reminder that there are indeed two cultures on the dance floor. One is based on the premise that those who have supposedly paid their dues to dancing can reap their rewards, usually at the expense of others. There is a clear pecking order for access to the floor: the more experienced partnerships over the less experienced, partnerships over solo dancers, dancers over non-dancers. Sadly, I've seen this hierarchy enforced on numerous occasions by processes of intimidation, establishing an environment that is difficult for beginners to develop in.

The other culture is based on an acknowledgement that everyone has an equal right to space on the dance floor, experienced dancers and newcomers alike. The difference is that with increased ability comes increased responsibility in safeguarding the well being of your partner and those less experienced.

Floorcraft is born of this principle. It describes a person's ability to observe and adapt to the dynamic conditions of the dance floor; in a manner that renders his or her partner safe and comfortable, whilst accommodating others no matter how busy the venue might be. Crafty dancers have the knack of having a thoroughly good time without incurring or inflicting injury.

It's not easy, since the dancers have to determine the size and shape of space that is and will be available, and how to fill it in a manner that interprets the music. A profound tactile understanding of the partnership is necessary in order to free up the visual senses for the peripheral observation of available space. And filling in this space with movement depends as much on an ability to adjust dance timing, as well as being able to exploit the points of flexibility in any turn combination.

In real terms, effective floorcraft demands the development of quite a large skill set, which is a very significant challenge. A system based on priority does little to encourage the acquisition of skills beyond a certain point; there is no need to develop observation, or learn how to flex a turn combination when you can just barge obstacles out of the way.

The expansion and transnationalisation of Latin music and dance as a social phenomenon shows no sign of slowing. Floorcraft is the keystone of social dance, but its continued existence requires a fundamental shift in our cultural dance attitude. Therein lies the pain. We should be making it easier for those with an interest in Latin culture to partake of it, instead of stamping that interest out of them at the earliest opportunity.