Mr. Megg's hometown was no City of Pleasure. Remove the Vicar's magic-lantern and the try-your-weight machine opposite the post office, and you practically eliminated the temptations to tread the primrose path. The only young men in the place were silent, gaping youths, at who lunacy commissioners looked sharply and suspiciously when they met. The tango was unknown, and the one-step. The only form of dance extant - and that only at the rarest intervals - was a sort of polka not unlike the movements of a slightly inebriated boxing kangaroo.
(from "A Sea of Troubles," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)