'We have concession rates for students and those who wear tartan': Meet the reel housewives of Chelsea

'My favourite thing about reeling,’ says a trainee clinical psychologist to my left, ‘is that you sweat out all the alcohol you’ve consumed there and then — because you’re dancing so much.’

It’s Tuesday night at St Columbus church on Pont Street, London, a plush address only moments from Harrods, and a crowd of nearly 300 has crammed into the hall to groove along to Scottish music. Most people here are in their early to mid twenties, in professional careers that aren’t so demanding that they cannot leave the office before six.

Doors open at 6.45pm, with the first reel at 7pm. The opening bars of The Dashing White Sergeant prompt people to take their positions in rows of three. A caller —someone who directs the newbies or those who are out of practice — numbers people one, two or three and ensures they are in the right place for the start.

A man and two women, or one woman and two men, arrange themselves into boy-girl formation and dance with the trio opposite them, with one forming a bridge at the end of the routine for the other to wiggle under and greet their next partners. The trainee psychologist beside me is a seasoned reeler and gives her moves a little extra flair. Another shouts ‘yippee’ at the end of the sequence.

Reeling, I’ve learnt over the years, comes with a certain vernacular. A Scotsman near me calls it the final bastion of heteronormativity: many dances involve a ‘presentation’, in which a man introduces his female partner to another male dancer as they move down a line together, dancing with the people opposite (many bows and curtseys ensue). One of the best-known reels, the Eightsome, sees one dancer cavorting in the middle of a seven-person circle, encouraged to push themselves to the max. Men, true to form, will grab the opportunity by the antlers.

‘A lot of them would use the Eightsome solo to do press-ups when we were younger,’ says lifelong reeler Kat Holbrook, a communications officer for luxury hotels, ‘to impress the girls.’ Sometimes, the rules are bent and a pair of the same sex will hop into the middle of the circle together: when two men do, mimicking stags rutting proves a popular move.

Experienced female dancers discuss the whole thing with a jaded air. One says that, during the Eightsome, she has seen men ‘attempt flips and cartwheels’. Miss Holbrook reveals: ‘I went to an all girls’ school and grew up dancing the male parts because I was so tall.’ She eventually had to ‘relearn’ the women’s half of the dances to keep up as an adult.

Reeling, to the uninitiated, seems odd and complicated. The vernacular runs deep. The choreographies are difficult. Demystifying this, however, has been among the calling cards for the collective known as London Reels, which organises the weeknight gatherings at St Columbus.

The current chair, Eliza Lindsay, tells me how much reeling in London has expanded since it picked up again post-covid. ‘Reeling was one of the last events to be allowed again after social restrictions eased,’ she notes. ‘It has exploded since.’

The London Reels collective takes over the church for one night in the middle of each month, from September to June. ‘We exceptionally hold two sessions in April and in May,’ Miss Lindsay tells me, ‘to wedge in extra practice ahead of the balls.’ She is referring to those in the Highlands, such as Oban or The Northern Meeting, which prove continually popular with the Scottish diaspora across the UK and take place in August.

Yet against these fancy, black-tie affairs, London Reels offers something different. Most attendees aren’t necessarily revising for the balls, but choosing to let their hair down at the end of the working day. They learn up to four dance routines in a single evening (The Dashing White Sergeant and Eightsome Reel are guaranteed, plus another two, which London Reels rotates each month to cover all bases before the balls), followed by drinks and actual dancing (‘the social’), during which they put their practice to use.

On offer are red wine, white wine and soft drinks. There is always a bowl of squash. London Reels itself hosts two balls a year, in May and December at the Battersea Arts Centre, with individual tickets at £70. They are growing more and more popular. ‘The median age of attendees, there and at the practice, has fallen considerably in the past four years,’ Lindsay says. ‘We have concession rates for students and those who wear tartan. In 2022, only 15% of attendees claimed those rates, but now, it’s about 24%.’

The cohort with me at London Reels is a wonderful mix of expert reelers and greener practitioners, although few are absolute beginners. There are more accessible entry-points for the curious — Holbrook recommends Reel Thing, run by caller John Carver, which hosts reels and ceilidhs throughout the year in the capital — as well as more advanced options for the experienced.

At the upper end, the Royal Caledonian Ball (a white-tie affair) takes place each spring at Grosvenor House on Park Lane. Some even head to France: each summer, since 2022, the Royal Versailles Ball at the celebrated palace just outside Paris has raised money for The King’s Foundation and other charities, with tickets starting at €240 (about £204). Even the best, however, flock to London Reels’s events for the sense of community.

‘It’s a really fun way to meet new people and make friends in London in your twenties,’ Holbrook beams. ‘See you at the next one?’

This feature originally appeared in the August 5, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.