Week 8

Wowsers – for me, Blackpool week was a return to form. Excellent dancing and excellent costumes – the Strictly wardrobe department outdid themselves in the sequin/comedy stakes. To quote Craig, I LOVED it.

But more on the outfits later. First I want to pay tribute to the special person we said goodbye to this week. The diminutive, inimitable and utterly wonderful Mr Vinthent Thimone. My very favourite Italian Pony.

*pause for respectful and poignant contemplation*

Since Ian was ousted and Brian left, no other male dancer has come close to Vinthent. I just love him! He’s so ridiculous and tiny and has fuzzy felt eyebrows which move independently from the rest of him. It’s a well-known fact that no-one in the history of Strictly Come Dancing has provided more joyful hilarity and proper ‘lol’s than our Vinthent (not even Henson). He’s just the master. I mean, who can forget his description of Rachel Steven’s pre-performance nerves: “she was shaking like a leaflet” (followed by dawning realisation “...oh no, ees ‘a leaf’?” and coy mortification “...Oh no, mwahaha.”)? Or the time he was so overcome with embarrassment (at what, I forget – possibly comparing Rachel to a leaflet, a fair comparison in terms of charisma proffered, we’ll all agree) that he threw his hands to his face and rocked back on his chair so far that he fell over backwards – little Italian limbs a-flailing. And let’s not forget his ingenuity - when Felicity had trouble with left and right (and that can happen to the very most cleverest brainy people, OK?!), he stuck a banana in one of her socks and an apple in the other. (“Step with the banana foot, Felicity” – it worked a treat.)

I just LOVE him. So I, and Abi too, am sure, are sad to see him go. (And bbbbendy Felicity too, of course.) Here’s hoping we’ll see a bit more professional action from him and Flavs before the show’s out.

Just a quick mention of the dancing – you know, as that’s what it’s all about, blah blah blah. Some truly high-quality performances I thought. Sweepstake bias notwithstanding, my favourites were Kara and Artem - just AWESOME, especially as Kara somehow dislocated Artem’s shoulder - allegedly during rehearsals. HA! (So kind of Tess to out them this week – so now we know, not gay, just European. Though I’m still suspicious.). Given the sex, I mean, dance injury, the performance was all the more impressive, as their routine essentially involved Artem hoisting Kara onto said dislocated shoulder throughout – so many levels of ow. Scott and Natalie were as clinical competent as ever, like dance assassins, and elegant PamJam finally got 10 (how I laughed when James said that he wanted to get a 10 “for Pamelar”. Again - HA!). And I rather enjoyed Matt Baker, as he shook his bon bon and did no less than THREE backflips in a row.

On the judge front, Len is such a grumpy old sod this year – he’s getting right on my wick. His scoring was (as it has been throughout this series) total nutsville. It was no surprise that he didn’t like Matt’s ‘flipflop’ (oh boom flipping boom Len) or that he was willing to give Ann five more points than she deserved (i.e. five – if only the zero paddle existed. *sigh*) but (BUT!!!) he only gave Kara a six (on a technicality, but not a rule break), and then gave Gavin Henson a se-VEN! W, T and F?!! In case you missed it, Henson was dancing a samba to Tom Jones and the routine started with him miming in front of a mic and attempting to pelvic thrust – it was repulsive. At the time, I simply tweeted “NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”, then decided that in a game of shag, marry, kill, with Henson, Bruce and Anton, I would unhesitatingly kill Gavin. Seriously. I stand by that decision in the cold hard light of day – and you all know how I feel about Anton (*voms*).

Oh Anton. You did redeem yourself a little this week – and surprisingly so. Now, I’m not sure how many of you (if any of you) read my @strictlycad tweets, but earlier this week – and please don’t judge me (well no more than usual) - I decided to compile a list of my all time favourite Strictly trousers. The results are here and here. Oh, how I was tempting fate with that countdown! Little did I know that Anton du Beke was limbering up to squeeze into the finest trousers Strictly has seen to date. Gold sequined slacks, worn with a yellow silk shirt and a gold sequined scarf.

To quote the fug girls: just... wow.

It goes without saying that Anton looked an absolute tool, but those trousers were all I could see on Saturday night in the Tesspit – glimmering away in the background. I was in no doubt, dear readers, in no doubt at all: Anton’s trousers made an entry straight to the top of my chart.

AND THAT IS NOT IN ANY WAY A SMUTTY EUPHEMISM OH MY GOD PERISH THE VERY THOUGHT.

Other special mentions go to Sssssssscott, looking unusually unsightly in one of Robin’s cast offs – think sequined Bayeux tapestry, in shirt form, slashed to the navel (obv. Robin would have looked amazing in it), and to Natalie Lowe, who looked impressively Amazonian, but was basically wearing a vajazzle.

As for Tess Dress Mess, turns out it is still worth documenting, as la Daly’s outfit reached heights of heinousness I didn’t think possible - stepping out on to the stage, as she did, in (I can barely type the words, such is my disgust) a red jumpsuit. It was... well there are no words. Suffice to say, she looked very awful indeed.

Also very awful indeed (well other than Ann, of course, but that’s a given and am not going there this week, apart from to say she looked and moved like a grapefruit on pipecleaners) was the professional dance which opened Sunday’s show, in which the Strictly ladies stripped to bejewelled bikinis and gyrated around for a few minutes. Yes, they have the figures for it and am sure it was a delightful sight for some, but it just didn’t work for me – there weren’t any ballroom or latin tricks and it felt like a real shame that, left to their own devices (or as directed to by the production team), the girls didn’t actually do any real dancing, just a bit of hip, crotch and bum shaking. Maybe it was supposed to be all slinky and Vegas-y, but... well, no amount of glitter and neon lighting is going to overcome the perennial problem that they were in BLACKPOOL! Yes that ballroom floor is incredible, but ultimately it’s located in a small grey British seaside town – it can try all it likes, but it’s not even La Vegas’ poorer cousin – it’s Sin City’s weird English stalker, who can’t be arsed with feathers in the arse crack on a full time basis and most of the time prefers to hang out in a nice woollen dressing gown, with a lovely cuppa and Take A Break magazine (and I ain’t criticising!). Let’s face it - the main activities in Vegas are excessive gambling, getting married to a prostitute by Elvis and seeing Bette Midler in concert. In Blackpool, it’s drinking Bacardi breezers, dry-humping a man in a Ben Sherman shirt, shovelling a load of chips (or pies) into one’s gob and enjoying an extended vomiting session. Very glamorous indeed.

(Ah well. Now might be a good time to listen to this. You know there’s poetry in them seaside towns.)

Still, gyrations aside, Blackpool did bring out the requisite amount of sparkle to Strictly this week – and for that, I thank it. And back to London now – where Apprentice viewers will know that people don’t wear shoes. The ultimate prize is getting nearer and it’s two dance time next week. And Widdecombe’s doing a rumba...