Bradford has a tradition of dance schools, interwound with the amateur dramatic, brass band and choral scene rooted in its industrial past.

Today the district is a regional attraction for dance audiences thanks to Bradford Theatres’ annual dance season, featuring world-class companies.

Starting this month, the new season includes street dance, salsa, Swan Lake and samba. How lucky we are to have companies like Matthew Bourne’s New Adventures, Cuba’s Havana Rakatan and Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater coming to town.

I’m particularly excited about Alvin Ailey; anyone who’s seen the New York company’s signature routine, Revelations, will know what an unforgettably joyful experience it is. Next month, Britain’s Got Talent winners Diversity bring their edgy fusion of urban dance and acrobatics.

Bradford’s dance seasons draw audiences from across the North, boosting the economy. At the Alhambra, I once sat behind a row of students from a Lancashire dance school chattering excitedly about sampling a Bradford curry after the show.

The discipline of dancers blows me away. It’s a far cry from my Saturday morning ballet classes; as a chubby five-year-old, with the grace and precision of a baby hippo, I was never going to make the Royal Ballet. I had my parents in fits of laughter as I shook the living-room floor practising my petit jetes, (or ‘petty jetties’, as I called them).

Now the nation is gripped by dance fever, thanks to TV shows like Strictly Come Dancing, Got To Dance and current ratings-puller, Let’s Dance for Sport Relief.

Community centres and village halls are jumping to latin beats, light jazz and big band numbers as amateur hoofers take up the salsa, jive and quickstep. Plumbers, caretakers and recruitment consultants are transformed into Anton Du Bekes and Brazilian showgirls.

I was recently amazed to discover that even my brother has unleashed his inner mambo king. This is a beer-swigging, Bradford City-loving 6ft firefighter with two left feet (or so I thought) who’d rather boil his eyes than watch Strictly. So my jaw dropped on learning that, for several weeks, he and his wife have been spending Tuesday evenings at Cleckheaton Town Hall, learning to waltz, jive and salsa.

As they quickstepped around their kitchen, breaking into an impromptu cha-cha-cha, I couldn’t believe that the man known as ‘Homer’ to his children has turned out to be quite a snake-hips. He knows his lindy hop from his rumba. He’s toying with the tango. He didn’t even balk at the mention of sequins. It’s like watching Brian Moore turn into Bruno Tonioli.

If Blackpool Tower Ballroom beckons, I’ll be on the front row holding up my Number 10 score card.