Bogle

For ilka place I ha'e is already fu', But ae big room-'deed frien', I needna lie t'yne An' that has long been haunted by a bogle

“Montgomery,” said I, “what was that thing that came after me? Was it a beast or was it a man?” “If you don’t sleep to-night,” he said, “you’ll be off your head to-morrow.” I stood up in front of him. “What was that thing that came after me?” I asked. He looked me squarely in the eyes, and twisted his mouth askew. His eyes, which had seemed animated a minute before, went dull. “From your account,” said he, “I’m thinking it was a bogle.” I felt a gust of intense irritation, which passed as quickly as it came. I flung myself into the chair again, and pressed my hands on my forehead. The puma began once more.

At the turn of the Nineties, the footballer Ian Wright would often celebrate his goals by running to the corner flag, and doing a ‘bogling’ move—the ‘bogle’ was a ragamuffin reggae dance then popular in the black community.

In Jamaica, there's a constant stream of new moves, corresponding to big club tunes. Dancers race to put videos online in the hope of starting the next bogle, dutty wine or hot wuk sensation.