Series 10 - Week 1 - Show 1

Well, how was it for you? For me, a typically mixed glitterball. There's always something of the anticlimax during the first week, as the slebs are some way off the showdance level we saw last Christmas, and although this year I did remember to check my expectations, I'm not sure they were lowered to quite the requisite level. Still, plenty to bitch and delight about in this first half, with much to look forward to on Saturday and beyond. I'm smelling potential - and it smells ok.

Let's gloss over the poorly-acted “I think Sid/Fern/Johnny's going to be really good” testimonials and hit the opening credits running; a few new exciting overhead shots, though I am sad that they've opted not to run with those theme tune lyrics.  I mean, how will I remember that we should go dancing tonight (da da da da da) and party the whole night (da da da etc), without being prompted? (Perhaps that's why I fell asleep on the sofa during QI and failed to make it dancing...)  We're also going to have to stare at Flavia's horrible red trouser suit and Anton's Jerry-inspired sexpression every week until Christmas, which will be a challenge for us all, but - together - I'm sure we can make it through and learn to look at Twitter during those bits.

Da da da das done, we're back in the studio 'enjoying' the bit I have to repeatedly blank from my memory every week: Bruce doing that shuffle stamp everyone pretends is 'dancing' and Tess rushing towards his arms to do that inelegant leg stick. Tonight, however, Tess 'forgot' to move to the middle of the stage in time and there was an awkward moment when she just grabbed Bruce's hands and fake-smiled.  Bruce looked even more lost and flustered than usual - I'm sure she didn't mean to confuse him, but come on La Daly!  Careful now!  This is live TV and you're playing 'surprise the eighty year old'...

Anyway, rather than dwelling on Bruce's opening lead balloon punchline (about Kate Middleton's breasts, obvs), let's turn our attention to TessDressMessAssess.  Not her worst (it would be a shame to waste a horror so early on), but an odd choice - rather more Strictly Come Boardroom, than ballroom.  Black, mid-thigh, tweedy and itchy; as if she'd decided to downplay the glam and focus instead on her inner office bitch.  It was also very weird of shape – well fitted up top, with an extreme Pyramid miniskirt; like she'd opted to stand behind Mr Heckles' magnifying glass and make it all about her crotch.  Still, on the plus side, the lorry mudguard pockets and red heels made her legs looked grrrreat, which, in turn, neatly distracted from her hair – I'm guessing her hairdresser couldn't find his scissors, so went at the ends with a hacksaw.

But enough of that for the moment - there'll be plenty more to bitch about when we see Tess' Saturday outfit.  Right now, it's time for the celebs to negotiate the stairs! Who will wobble? Who will most look like they want to be sick?  To be honest, I didn't notice – all I could see was Artem's manboobs.  Wowsers!  Truly, I never thought I'd see the day when anyone out-titted Robin 'string vest' Windsor.  

Also of note – Vinthent appeared to be wearing a dance cardigan and Colin Salmon was already in leopard print. Clearly, it's all about the boys' wardrobes this year. Very good.

Quick housekeeping point: we're getting half the dancers tonight, half on Saturday, but no-one's leaving until next weekend. Everyone's doing a waltz or a cha cha cha this week, and the other next week.  Let the slightly rubbish dancing begin!

First up, Fern Britton and Artem's Pecs. We're reminded that Fern is mainly famous for Ready, Steady, Cook, being too old for ITV's daytime viewers (POT/KETTLE?) and her gastric band. She says she likes dancing, but "mainly that freestyle groove” (whereupon we all sicked up a bit in our mouths).  This was was cringingly illustrated by the V-sign eyes dance that no-one bar the fictional character Mia Wallace should ever attempt.   Artem is still stoned and Russian.  He also likes to rehearse in a pink scarf.

As for her cha cha - well... we saw Fern bounce-walking around looking alternatively smiley and pouty.  She briefly messed up, recovered, swished her skirt a while and ended up with her leg in the air.  She's bendier than you might think, but I don't think her sweepstakee Vix will be getting the prize draw. Sorry lovely!

Bruce introduces Dave Arch and the judges in his usual way (Dave Arch is “wonderful”, the judges are a pain in the arse.) He then presented new judge Darcey Bussell with a over-compensatory ramble about her 'dahnce' credentials, even adding “it will be nice to have a judge on the panel who knows what they're talking about.”  Ahem.  Craig and Len pretend to find that sweet and hilarious (they are RAGING inside), Bruno faux-strops (he is RAGING inside), and somewhere in the ether, Arlene is retweeting a million messages about how she should still be on the panel instead of that cow Alesha (she is OPENLY RAGING).  Am sure that wherever she is (probably out drinking with Allan Carr), Alesha doesn't give a shit about any of it.

So Darcey might be able to dance, but can she judge?  Well, not yet, not really, but we already suspected that.  Firstly, her intonation is that of a Surrey teen – whereby she goes UP, at the end of every SUB-CLAUSE, like she's asking a QUESTION, to everyone that's LISTENING. Her main tactic is to offer very sensible, practical, slightly boring advice, which she intersperses with an inordinate amount of yahs. “You need to extend your ARMS, YAR?” “You need to dance in lower HEELS, YAR?” “You need to feel the MUSIC, YAR?”, “You need to dance BETTER, YAR?”  It is pretty ANNOYING, YAR, but I suspect the Telegraph masses will accept it more willingly than “YOU WOZ, YOU WOZ”.   Sometimes she also throws in a “hmmm?”, an “ok?”, or a even a “yes, YAR?”, probably for SHITS, YAR or GIGGLES, YES, YAR?

She also needs to learn how to raise her paddle like the other judges, as she's currently brandishing it a bit like a sword, which I suspect might be a health and safety concern.  Having said that, she might accidentally hit Len one week, in which case I would LAUGH, YAR, because that would be FUNNY, YAR.  HMMM, OK, YES, YAR, ETC.

The other judges, typical old men that they are, haven't changed their panto roles in the past ten years and why bother now? Len's standing up against feminism - the poor boys are at a disadvantage because they can't “skirt waft”, Bruno's already out of his seat, in order to excitably discuss Fern's nether regions and Craig throws out his first “disahhhster” – something about a Cuban section.

Next up are Nicky Westlife and newbie Karen Hauer, which I think is an apt moment to remember her glorious predecessor Katya Virshilas, queen of hats and scary bitches, who was unceremoniously and inexplicably fired after Strictly Nine for... what?  Putting up with Tuffers and Dan Lobb On and getting Henson to a semi-final?!  It hardly seems fair.   We loved you Katya and like Lilia and her little husband, we shall never forget.

Judging by the VT shots of Westlife 'back in the day', Nicky Byrne hasn't aged in about fifteen years.   (No doubt Louis Walsh has a portrait of the whole band in an attic somewhere – and not just for Dorian Grey purposes.)  His partner Karen is in the highly fortunate position of never having heard of Westlife, although she has heard of the Backstreet Boys, so I live in hope for a routine to the greatest BSB song ever Larger Than Life (this is not open to debate, whatever my sister might have to say about the merits of The Call).

Nicky waltzes with hands in pockets whilst Karen swishes around in a giant yellow dress of excellent loo roll holder proportions.  His posture is woeful, but he sure hasn't forgotten how to bring slow-motion, pop music video intensity to his performance.  They also throw in an illegal lift, and Craig duly admonishes Karen for it – “ONE FOOT MUST REMAIN ON THE FLOOR AT ALL TIMES”.   (Backstage they try to pass it off as a 'swoosh' – that well known technical dance term).  Bruno tries to snog Len to illustrate... I have no idea, and Darcey tells Nicky that “his strength is his musicality”, which made me laugh heartily for a good five minutes. Clearly Darcey's not heard of Westlife either.  

(I'm sitting on the fence regarding their, and Abi's, chances.  His score wasn't great, but I'm not discounting them, and the fanatical power of Westlife fans, yet...)

In the next VT, we are reminded that Michael Vaughan plays cricket and is English, and that English cricketers hate the Australians, and his partner Natalie Lowe is an Australian, so we must prepare ourselves for loads of hilarious BANTER, YAR?  Fortunately, I think Mr Vaughan will provide some comedy moments, I enjoyed his pre-waltz worry that “there's a bit of a spin on that dance and I could end up in the trumpets.”  He didn't and just about got through his routine unscathed, with only the slightest bout of constipation face and audible whispers of 1-2-3. 

They celebrated getting to the end of their elegant romantic waltz with some fist pumps and pelvic thrusts (from Natbot mainly).  Darcey advises “don't get stiff on US, YAR” - no sexy pahty for Michael, then.  Up in the balcony (I miss the Tesspit), Michael basically says 'I didn't fall on me arse, I've had a cracking day and I've got my fee now!', so I'm not sure Terry's £1 is quite going to make it.  Still, Michael is a sportsman and we mustn't forget that Natbot is programmed for Competitive Overdrive and there's no way she'll accept anything less than aiming for Strictly Victory, even after all hope is lost.

The training footage for Victoria Pendleton and Brendan Cole suggests that muscle memory is going to be a challenge for Vic and the performance, sadly, bears that out – bit of a hot mess, really.  My sister tweeted that she “watched it in rumba mode, i.e., only one eye open” - I think she speaks for us all, no?   (Mr Cad and I watched from behind our house hoodies).  

It all got a bit too much for poor Victoria at judging – suffice to say, we can all cross 'Pendleton cries' off our SCD Bingo list.  However, it's likely that the tears flowed less for the mistakes and more because of her slitty Aladdin jumpsuit and that really dodgy scousebrow. Clearly wardrobe have decided she's this year's Holly Valance and are determined to dress her in the worst monstrosities. Good luck getting her to look fat and ugly though – she's gorge, even with the added eyebrow pencil.  And perhaps the sympathy vote will help Jo's £1 stake make it through.

Interlude whilst Bruce does quite a good joke about letters.

Over to Kristina Rihanoff and Colin Salmon – I wonder how many weeks they'll shoehorn the Bond references in, to remind us all why he's famous. He has, of course, been in shitloads of film and TV things, but my favourite bit about his Wikipedia entry is that he used to in a punk band and now has his own jazz quartet in which he plays trumpet. Obviously, that could all be made up, and he might just as easily have been a former pig breeder who loves to crotchet and now captains a boules team, but regardless, I instantly warmed to him and Kristina's partnership, especially as Colin shamelessly took to the floor in Pat Butcher's jumble sale cast offs and a sequinned wife-beater. 

Kristina was in her usual uniform of Mermaid Barbie's bra and the insides of a cassette reel stapled to her pants. (NB: there was only enough tape to make it around the bottom area and one leg – must have been a C60.)  Their cha cha cha was GREAT! Mincy - sure! But also camp and funky and competent.  In your FACE (YAR), the production team who gave such a teeny dancer a giant to work with – I have high hopes for these two.  You never know, Jules - that £14 could be yours...

Also HOORAY for Kristina has unstraightened her hair. Take note, Tess, that's how you do messy-pretty platinum.

Finally, my sweepstakes - Denise van Outen, dancing with James Jordan.  I thought they were both Essex natives, but JJ is actually from Kent, though that's pretty much the same only with less make-up, right?   (Well, it is if TOWIE and the clientèle on a recent train ride to Margate are the only things to judge by.)  They've cracked out the dry ice already and although Dave Arch's singers are struggling a bit with the harmonies, James and Den are waltzing very well indeed.  

Mind you, it's not *that* surprising that DVO is competent at dancing, despite her protestations that she hasn't been to stage school for a few decades. (I'm sure that Chicago and Legally Blonde were able to send her Pineapple Studios way over the years.) The judges agree that her performance really was good, although Len has a grumble about the lack of heel leads. (Heel leads are hard – I've just tried heel-lead walking to my kitchen and it was a right arse.)

Also, you really couldn't tell that Ola had just broken James' nose, could you? The power of make-up!  (Pendleton scouse brows aside.)

And there we go – seven down, seven to go.  We're treated to a mini preview in which the next bunch all trot out the usual clichés about being nervous, having to focus, hoping to do well and dancing in front of millions.  Oh except, Jerry Hall, who BRILLIANTLY drawls “not AWL fillies give a smooth ride the first time ouuuut”. Have I mentioned that I love her?  Once or twice?  Well, COME ON! 

We'll also get a peak at Aliona's sub, Iveta Lukosiute – she's the slightly sketetal one with Aliona's old dye job, who has become Johnny's temporary partner and my mum's sweepstake dancer.   Aliona is due back in a couple of weeks – what a total coincidence that that's just after the first dance eviction, in which her sleb Johnny Ball is probably the favourite to go!  It would be a REAL SHAME if Aliona didn't get to dance with her celebrity duffer, wouldn't it?  A real bloody shame.

Anyway, on that note, it's time for QI and a snooze.  Mere hours til the next one! Keeeeeeeeeeeeeep dancin'.