Like they do it in Harlem, baby.

Forgive me if it seems out of character, but I happen to be quite fond of the high-five. My favourite variety shall always be the awkward miss, as when two nerds at the end of an eighties film swing wide and then laugh jovially while the film slows and an enthusiastic pop song starts to play. I'm also fond of the shockingly strong ones that demonstrate that one's partner in the high-five has researched the physics involved. A truly masterful high-five, by the by, can be achieved by aiming for the other person's elbow. Try it. The results are magnificent. You're guaranteed at least one exclamation of, "Damn, girl!" out of every five.

My pretty paramour, when presented with my enthusiasm in this matter, is kind and wise enough to do me the service of reminding me that the high-five is distressingly American. And in an attempt to educate me, he demonstrates the correct response to such things: properly terrifying British disdain.

Unfortunately, there are (and I really am sorry to say it) so few things that I love about American culture that when I find one I cling to it. Peanut butter, for example, can send me into ecstasies.

And so, in celebration of this venerable American institution, may I present the Andrews Sisters, who have been teaching us the etiquette of shaking hands like black people for decades:

On the Andrews Sisters themselves: simultaneously gawky and sassy is not a combination one tends to see in modern popular music. It's our loss. And of course, bonus points will always be awarded for tap dancing with sailors.