PERSONALLY, I don’t believe the children are our future. Sure, if you accept time as a purely linear function, they are quite logically what will be left when the current crop of elders falls to life’s great harvest. But you’re not just as literal as all that, are you?

In truth, Whitney and her predecessors got it wrong. Young people, in all their shapes and guises, transcend temporal boundaries. They, just like those of us who happen to have tramped our planet’s soils for a fraction more of its sprawling history, are our present.

Never fear, I’m not in the business of romanticising the role of the little beggars. There are no candles on the table of this particular enterprise. I just refuse to believe that anyone, at whatever age, should be encouraged to wait for life to begin. Whether you’re an octogenarian or an Octonaut, your existence and how you choose to manage it is as valid as that of the next generation – or indeed the last.

As far as I’m concerned, my shoe size is just as relevant to how I act as is my age. When picking slippers, more so even. Granted, I’m spawned from a family whose only concept of maturity is how it affects a wine’s bouquet, and, as a direct consequence, have no real idea how my 35 years should inform my mindset. Whether it’s shampoo and set or kissing behind the bike sheds, if it tickles my fancy, I’m laughing along. And recently, I turned my flitting attention to an adventure that maybe should be left to spring chickens, but never has been and, I suspect, never will.

RollerStop in Kinning Park is Glasgow’s only permanent roller rink, serving Scotland’s burgeoning skating community. Oh, they burgeon; didn’t you know? Since its launch last April, the rink has welcomed skaters, young of heart or head, to don their training wheels or strut their funky stuff, sho’ enuf, in a wholly dedicated space. And the community have flocked to its door – or should that be convoyed? But the RollerStoppers have been providing the wheres and wherefores for freewheeling even before that door opened, with mobile discos across the country, bringing that retro feel with an up-to-date spin to such venues as Ayr Citadel and The Lagoon in Paisley. This week, I met Suzie Beith, one of RollerStop’s managers, for a much-needed one-to-one lesson before I was let loose to sweat out my night fever with the rest of the Thursday evening roller disco crowd.

The first thing to note about the roller rink is that there’s room to swing cats. But since it’s hard to make money when the SSPCA are on your case, a skating palace seems a much better option. And it truly is fit for the king and queen of the quads. Mirror balls and spot-lighting throw beams across the floor, neon triptychs gild the walls, and a welcoming cafe feeds the energy. Rows of skates for hire, and the protective equipment that keeps patrons returning, line the front wall and a DJ booth tops off the aesthetic in true disco style.

The urge to spin around that space like an extra from a Cliff Richard video was strong, and since none of the regulars would be arriving for another hour, there was no-one to hurt but myself. Now, I’ve never been known for my sterling balance; I’m not sure many outside of the British banking system are. I’ve probably mentioned this shortcoming before, but that’s because the issue comes up more often than I’d like. Stiltwalking, slacklining and chocolate-making have tested my equilibrium in their own comical ways, but I was ready to add revolution to my litany of crimes, and how better than with wheels attached?

Suzie glided towards me with all the grace of a Suzie – she’s basically my new measure of grace. And, while I knew it would take more than a couple of hours and a stiff holding of nerve, I instantly wanted her skills to be mine. Of course, I had to crawl before I could skate and Suzie’s first priority was to teach me just that, as we planted ourselves on the carpet and practised standing up, from sitting to kneeling to full height with only a little instability between.

Before long, I had mastered being upright and we were rolling forwards, taking small steps, shifting weight and bending knees. When the falls inevitably came, I was prepared, since Suzie had already taught me how to negotiate them and, for the most part, I managed to pre-empt them at the wobble stage. Suddenly the rink wasn’t so oppressively big, after all; each pillar seeming to whip past at even my steady trundle. I’m a little scared to jinx it but I think I was finally skating.

I’ll admit, I’ve tried learning to roller skate before: once in a strangely energetic moment of childhood, and again latterly, when trying became my modus operandi. On neither occasion did the bug catch enough to blow the dust from my 90s-memorial skates. But, of course, on neither occasion was there that extra element that roller disco brings: music. Add music to any experience and you can guarantee an emotional response. That’s why they play tunes at funerals; well, that and to muffle the scratching noises.

As the building started to fill up with people who looked like they knew their way around a derby, my nerves joined the party. Sure, I felt more comfortable on skates than I ever had before but I wasn’t convinced I was ready to be surrounded by the confident masses, and Suzie’s description of the upcoming limbo and backwards skating numbers rotated around my mind. Typically though, I needn’t have worried. Before the opening bars of Yazoo’s Situation had stroked my ear-holes, the rink had called me to its embrace and, along with a cast of experts and beginners, I was soon making my way slowly through the room – and the song – with erratic ease. I’m certain I didn’t cut a fine figure on the floor, but with every track I found a little more rhythm, a little less syncopation in my skating. And by the time Madonna piped up, I was getting into the groove with the best of them.

Fine, not quite the best of them, since in our midst were a player from the national roller derby squad and several others worth watching. And then, of course, there was Suzie, who had taken to a corner to teach advanced dance moves to an able bunch – and me. Boy, is it difficult to shake your thang while it moves freely from under you? Yes, it is.

But even while practising my do-si-don’t, my eyes were continually drawn to a silver haired gent who weaved among the pack, sometimes crouched low or with one leg stretched out in front, always with oodles of style. When he finally slowed to my paltry pace, Mark and I spoke about his love of skating, the 40 year hiatus in its progress, and the joy it brings that his children join him each week to keep the family rolling onwards.

And that’s the thing about roller disco, and roller skating, in general, it doesn’t care how many birthdays you’ve had before you join its ranks; it only hopes you’ll get your skates on and enjoy the next party.