Let me set the scene. A posh company party in a hotel ballroom. Three hundred junior executives tuck into a steak dinner. Polite conversation about sales figures. The lights dim.
Thunderous chords rumble.
A hysterical master of ceremonies squawks in excitement - and six men burst onto the stage. They are not exactly young, not exactly attractive, not exactly slim and not all of them have a full head of hair. But these are the Oyaji Dancers, saying it loud, they are fat and proud. They move and groove to a selection of Japanese pop classics, shimmying and crotch-grabbing with the best of them. Hawaiian shirts and tight pink trousers only just contain their ripples of flesh as they swivel and high-kick to the beat.