Series 10 - Week 8

I missed the live show, as I was out at a delicious seven hour booze fest of a Thanksgiving Dinner (hooray for Americans!), but Beth texted me on Saturday night to say “Bruce has made me so angry, I'm going out”, which boded well...  I don't blame Beth - I can well imagine how, on his current form, such Bruce-rage was launched, probably within the first few minutes of the show, so I wisely took advantage of the main advantage of the Virgin On Demand Replay function - the fast-forward button.  (Though I still felt an anger twinge when I spotted a speeded up Bruce doing what looked like his unbearable fake-striptease whilst getting fake-garrotted by a pearl curtain – just, ARGH, etc etc.)

 

However, no fury from me that Victoria is gone - like dad's kindly shovel putting young Timmy's wounded gerbil out of its misery, it was a bit sad, but mainly for the best.  Sure, her dancing and performance have improved over the course of the series, and she nailed some rather fearless lifts, but it was still a relatively shoddy salsa and she generally looked like she wanted to be somewhere else (as did Brendan).  In the end, she took it with excellent grace (read relief) and only a few Pendletears, but they were probably more to do with her hedge-drag hair styling and that outfit made of rhinestone, triangle midriff and flammable pink lycra - it might have been Vic’s time to go, but it was still pretty callous to have her leave the show dressed like Adult Honey Boo Boo Child.

 

Mr Cad: “Oh well Victoria, at least that's the extension paid for.”  Sorry Sweepstaker Jo – it wasn't your year for that £1 to become £14.

 

It was probably right to see Michael in the dance-off, in such competitive Strictly times (especially after Nicky Westlife’s champion charleston), but what a comedown after Wem-ber-ley's American Smooth triumph.  Wisely, Natalie had made their Argentine Tango all about her, with Michael playing the part of the wooden post around which she whipped and twirled, but it wasn't quite enough, as there's only so much you can hide one half of a dance duo, regardless of how well-versed you are in Me-Me-Me-ism (still newly love you Nat!).

 

Another problem is that I'm very much Team 'Argentine Tango Should Only Be In The Semi Final'.  I still object to seeing it performed so early, as there's all the more risk that it will be less than perfect and will disappoint - as this tended to.  It didn't help that they dressed Nat in the offshoots of the Halloween show (the maroon velvet scraps that traditionally form the standard Sexy Witch outfit) and the remains of Vinthent's Shaggy wig - apparently there was only enough left for a fringe (what HAD he been doing with it?).  Is that really what the lady gauchos are sporting in the pampas these days?  My guess is that they, like the rest of the bloody world, are more likely to be dressed in the animal print vulgarity that is the Kardashian Collection.  (WHY? etc etc.)

 

Dani also did badly in the hair extensions draw – if they dared to offer Beyoncé ratty acrylic curls like that, I'd imagine she'd throw a diva fit the likes of which not been seen since I last went into a full scale Bruce-induced caps lock and exclamation marks tantrum.  I was also unconvinced by Dani's outfit – the showgirl mustard crotch fringe didn’t have the greatest effect on stretching her proportions, did it?  (There's also a joke in there about getting a Brazilian, but I'm steering well clear.)  HOWEVER, costume aside, it's important to note that their samba was really, really great – she made it look easy and good fun, rather than the rehearsal shit fest we know it is.  I hope to see her stay awhile longer.

 

I’m not sure what I made of their speed dating VT though...  Sure, it made me laugh (Vinthent as Del Boy? COME ON), but I also feel like the Italian Pony has become a parody of a parody of a parody of himself – soon he'll have gone full circle and then maybe the universe will explode.  Remember the days when his ludicrousness was only in its early budding stages?  When he was having a stretch and fell backwards off his chair?   When he said that Rachel Stevens was “shaking like a leaflet” (PLEASE, THE INTERNET, FIND ME THOSE CLIPS)?  Those were good times - natural comic times, where you didn't need to force the quips and stereotypes...

 

It was also the time when he and Beige Club 7 were robbed of a win, even though they did that AMAZING Argentine Tango to When Doves Cry?  And, for me, that made it a mightly risky strategy for Pasha to reuse such iconic Strictly music for his tango with Kimba this week.  Whilst When Doves Cry is certainly a great song for a moody tango, I just felt a bit (unfairly) grumpy about seeing another dance to it.  (This makes me a total hypocrite, as I had no problem watching Kristina and Colin take on Goldeneye for their naked Argentine Tango a few weeks ago and most of the time I fail to even notice blatant song recycling.  Bad Strictly fan.)

 

To continue the nit-picking, whilst I loved loved loved Kimberley’s dress, I also wasn't feeling royal blue for a good tango colour and, maybe it was just me and my grumpiness, but I also thought the hold choreography felt a leeeetle bit repetitive - even if it was brilliantly executed.  I should get over myself though – it really was very good.

 

In any case, I bloody loved how they inadvertently set up the comedy highlight of the series, when Craig referenced Kimba “nicely placing her thumb in Pasha's crack”.  Although I didn't watch it live, I'm fairly sure the gayer parts of the Strictly Twittersphere exploded with a whole load of volunteers.  Hey, not just the gayer parts.  The internet LOVES Pasha and it's a well-known fact that the internet is always right.

 

I suspect there was also some lusty internet support for Louis in his matador outfit, though not from the judges, who were rather unkind, once again – evidently they've moved on from Nicky and are gunning for Louis. I did tend to agree with their comments, but thought they were pretty miserly on the scoring.  He didn't tangle his paso cape (too much) and I thought his acting was better - there was no hint of fart smell face and we saw from Len’s lens that he even attempted some growling.  But it did look like Flavia was actively in charge on the dance floor, when he was supposed to make her feel all meak and cape-y.  She was probably just too empowered by her awesome outfit – my my, what ruffle action.

 

I thought the judges were quite mean to Lisa too - they didn't quite say “too fat to rumba”, but it felt like the subtext.  I was quite moved by Robin and Lisa’s performance, but that's probably because a standard 'sexy' rumba makes me retch, so I was always going to prefer the poignant story of a Barbra Streisand fan and his best lady friend playing out the classic tragedy of a fag hag in love with her GBF - he does love her, just not as much as he loves, well, cock. 

 

Yes, I went there.

 

OK, so moving swiftly on, I really enjoyed Karen the Flapper and Nicky's rubber-legged charleston - and can't believe nineties classic Doop (by Doop) hasn't been used for a charleston before.  However, I was a little unsettled by the VT of Nicky's sons, who, whilst very adorable, had Hollywood child actor hair and wore waistcoats, both of which always terrify me on children.  I suspect that the charleston was just a dance that really suited Nicky, rather than him suddenly having cracked latin and ballroom, but we shall see.  Maybe, as we reach the final third of the show, Nicky has been suddenly inspired to get up off his metaphorical stool, reach for the modulation and give it some proper welly as the ladies scream - but in dance form.

 

And then, last/not least/etc etc, Van Jam’s American Smooth.  Wowsers.  I totally promise that I didn't fix the sweepstake when I got James in the draw.  Honest.  Honest, honest.

 

Truth is, I'm not sure Denise will ever garner the support to win the popular phone vote, what with her previous dance training and professional employment as a, erm, dancer, but I think she might be bringing them round.  (I just need to check the social barometer that is the green-arrowed comments on the Mail Online.)

 

Anyway, even though Denise's performance was wonderful, the best bit was still Flavia's reaction to what she clearly perceived to be over-scoring – she went from pouty face to actively shaking her head.  Hahaha – more of that please.  I love an honest reaction backstage.

 

Dances done, I’m going to leave Saturday's TessDressMessAssess to Mr Cad this week.  His comments, re: Saturday, were as follows: “That dress is nice!  Her boobs are big and in the right place!  And that pattern provides a guide and confirmation!”  I suppose I should be peeved that he's checking out another woman's rack, but truth is, I'm proud to have taught him how to gauge la Daly’s fashions choices so well – it WAS a nice dress, her (sizeable) boobs WERE in the right place and the pattern was, well, if not quite “a guide and confirmation”, it would certainly be fair to say that the floral and leather bondage detail neatly drew attention to the Daly girls.

 

But then Sunday.  OH TESS.  Sunday’s attire was just hideous beyond words, though obviously that won't stop me attempting to describe the vilesville which confronted us.  It was essentially an outfit designed to show that Tess wasn't wearing any knickers, thanks to a chiffon strip which ran up her sides from her calves to her peplum bustier.  I'm told it's Stella McCartney, which comes as precisely no surprise – my thoughts on her terrible work are already well-documented and it's important that we remember Stella McC is a woman prepared to dress HERSELF thusly and thusly to a FASHION EVENT, which... well, I rest my satin balloon jumpsuited case.  The jury's still out on whether this is Tess' all-time worst, but it's certainly up there with, for example, that infamous yellow jumpsuit.

 

Let’s end on a more positive note, shall we?  Flawless!  What a cracking routine with the Strictly Girls – Erin, particularly, must have been delighted to get a specimen from the sexy man troop to dance with.  Meanwhile I’m imagining Brendan skulking from the sides, giving them death stares.  Unless he was already aware of the inevitable dance-off ejection, in which case I’d imagine he was too busy jumping for joy, shouting “wooo yippee!!” and booking a cab to get the hell back to his pregnant wife as soon as physically possible.

 

I can’t believe there are only four weeks left!!!  It’s gone so fast (am sure Mr Cad will be thinking ‘well, it’s relative...').  I still can’t call the final three – but I might cagily wish for a Denise – Lisa – Dani final, which seems folly when I note there’s no Louis in there...  Basically, I have no idea and am notoriously bad at predictions.  So lo, we’ll just have to keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep watchin’.

 

Series 10 - Week 7 – WEM-BER-LEY

How are everyone's ears?  Still ringing from the insane levels of enthusiasm churned up by 6000 Strictly fans stuffed into a arena?  Mine too.  As for my own Strictly enthusiasm, it's doing ok – it was only mildly tempered by the oversized dance floor, anonymous dancers (bah to unfamiliarity) and the fact they sneaked a theme in through the back door: 'Dance Through The Decades' – I started sceptical, but, although it was low on wig content, by the end I was graciously tolerant.

 

I was more than tolerant of the Eighties Monitors and dance-off losers, Erin and Richard, who sadly had to sail their dance lilo into the sunset, bound directly for Erin’s Gin Palace. Soapy Dick’s high-waisted white trousers and Andrew Ridgeley impression weren’t enough to save him this time – which is a mighty shame, as I have found his routines and schtick far more entertaining than say, oooh, PENDLES (more on that story later, viewers) and I’d quite have quite happily seen what conceptual comedy gem Erin was going to concoct next week, after the Gin Palace Foxtrot and Desert Island Discs Salsa (luxury item: beefcakes in budgie smugglers).  But no, we must say goodbye to all that camp potential - no chance of ‘Rumba At Erin’s Roller Disco’, 'Hello Sailor Let's Argentine Tango' or 'The Hampstead Health Showdance'.  *sigh*

 

Having said that, Erin does deserve a break – there’s only so much hairspray a ballroom barnet can handle.

 

Dance-wise, it seemed fair that Nicky should stay over Richard, especially as his fifties jive was one of his better Strictly attempts - and it was actually a good thing that they had all that floorspace, as I'm fairly sure Nicky's flailing arms and legs would have taken out a front row biddy or three in the usual studio.  But overall Nicky’s still not quite doing it for me, so it’s with some relief that I note The Voting Power Of Westlife Fans appears to have its limits - he deserves to outlast Pendles, but after that, it's time to get back to the grey suits and stool work. 

 

It wasn't all shoddy though, far from it!  For example, I very much enjoyed Nicky’s Jedward quiff and the bit where he nearly ripped through his cardboard prison bars (clearly all the prop budget went on Erin's ocean camouflage crash mat).  And then, of course, there was the “Criminal Record” sign. (I don’t need to make the obvious Flying Without Wings gag here, right?)  In fact the main problem I had with their jive wasn't Nicky - it was Karen’s scoop cut and flappy tie neckline, which I found – no exaggeration – utterly repulsive.  No really – there is no place for a tie on a dress and it made me feel queasy.  (OTT? Moi?)  

 

And NOT ONLY was it a massively ugly look, it was also very disappointing - I mean, was that really the best Sexy Cop jive dress Wardrobe could do?  No, it was not – at the very least we should have had Village People meets Happy Days meets Ann Summers meets A Thousand Sequins.  Is that too much to ask?

 

At least Robin's costume didn’t disappoint – nipple ahoy!  There it was, flirtatiously peeking out of a casually unbuttoned dungaree strap – like a pectoral wink.  And if that weren’t enough, (someone’s making up for lost time) we also got a bright pink pant flash – sneaking up out of the low slung dungaree denim on the Windsor hips.  Hurrah!  Mind you, the chest reappearance momentarily confused me, as, for most of the samba, I thought Robin was dressed as a farmhand who'd rolled in the cowpats - before realising that (durrr) he was the Car Wash Mechanic to Lisa's Car Wash – this is not a criticism, as I totally covet those streamer flapper dresses.  I found the dance itself a bit patchy, with a fair few mistakes littered throughout, but I’m still gunning for la Riley – when it goes right, she’s fab, and she has such likeability.  And excellently giant seventies hair.

 

It was Kimba who took on the other samba, which began with a parachute-sized train to rival Lady Di’s wedding dress, on to which huge flames were projected (shame Middleton didn't opt for that look when she got hitched - maybe that way it wouldn't have all been about Pippa's arse).  On one hand, Kimble's train looked super cool, but, on the other, it also looked like a massive fire fart across all of Wembley. 

 

I'm guessing their Ricky Martin tribute was supposed to be the nineties representative, which means we'll have to wait at least another year before we get a Britpop Samba – preferably channelling Bez and his maracas or some pointy Jarvis.  Not that I'm complaining about Vida Loca action - the content was mucho shimmy and then Pasha had his disco bowling shirt ripped open, so what’s not to like?  Well, the terrifying screech of Dave Arch’s singers covering the “la la la la la vida loca” bit at the end of the song was somewhat less successful.

 

I know, let’s all console ourselves by looking at a photo of Ricky topless with his twins.

 

Nice, eh?  Whilst we're all appeased, maybe now's not a good time to mention how Darcey said it was good and stuff, but then added that Kimba's core was WEAK and she should totally do some sit-ups, which was all a teeny bit WHAT THE ACTUAL FFFFFFFFFFFFFF?  I’ve actually come round to the Bussell as a judge, but COME ON - if Kimberley Walsh has to do more sit-ups, we are all officially doomed.

 

Well, except Pendles – she’s probably done enough sit-ups to suit Darcey’s needs.  It's just a shame about the dancing, which remains, well, unconvincing.  It’s not that I actively dislike Vic (yet), but I am starting to find her a bit on the sullen side, and - technical term alert - lacking in oomph.  I actually thought her paso wasn’t half bad (by her standards) and I quite enjoyed it (though my pro-paso feelings are well documented), but it’s just not good that the best bit of the dance was far and away the few seconds where she was off-camera, getting unharnessed from her entirely unnecessary ET bike moment, and we all watched Brendan, centre stage, doing the hula with his paso cape. 

 

By the way, what decade was this?  Was it the 'tenties' (i.e. London 2012 and the Team GB leggings of vile?) in spite of the seventies Queen bike choon?  Whichever - I doubt it was the lack of coherent decade action that left Victoria down the bottom of the leader board.  It was strange, however, to see fellow Olympian Louis also lingering low too (level pegging with Nicky, third from bottom). 

 

Truth is, I found Louis and Flavia's American Smooth a bit odd choreographically – the lifts were incredibly cool, but the quickstepping felt a bit nondescript, the Kanye West breakdown felt out of place and the end pose (push, glide and have a lie down) was just plain weird.  I’m wondering if the trouble with Louis isn’t his danceability, but the slightly brattish behaviour we seem to see in the training room?  After the patience of several million saints to get him to practice the first bit, perhaps Flavia just went “enough, fine, whatevs, let’s leave it there – when we get to the end, you can just pommel a bit and then we’ll have a nice sleep on the dancefloor.  Now,  please excuse me Louis, as I’m off to Wardrobe to get my thirties-inspired dress, which they assure me was the era were women liked to wear white satin Star Trek tunics, adorned with rosettes and table placements.”

 

At least I think they had the thirties, as Louis seemed to be dressed as one of the Lunch Atop A Skyscraper dudes – even if the aerial budget sadly didn't stretch to two Olympians in the air, which is a shame, as Louis could have got up in the rafters and chomped down some baked beans on toast from his mum, which I'm sure would have been most authentic.

 

Meanwhile Van Jam went twenties (charleston) via eighties (Walk Like An Egyptian) via naughties (Puppini Sisters cover) and the judges went mental for it – THREE TENS.  Sure, it was highly competent, but (sorreeeeee) I was left a little underwhelmed.  I think the music wasn’t working for me – for starters, I’m fairly sure the sound was too quiet and echo-y for the TV viewers and secondly, as much as I enjoy a Puppini cover, that Bangles original is one of my all time faves, and I’m sure it could have handled a charleston.  I was also saddened not to see Denise in full Cleopatra, complete with triangular black hair and asp on bosom.  Another missed wig-portunity.

 

Vinthent was also wig-less, but then again he had donned a hot pink velour waistcoat and matching shell suit bottoms, so that was a joy – I mean, who wouldn’t want to quickstep dressed as a fluorescent pink mini-highlighter?  The dance was great too – turns out their little Shetland legs can motor rather nicely across a stadium.  I even thought Dani, with her cutesome sixties girl group vibe, might get a ten or two of her own, but no, she was denied.  Maybe the judges were put off by the notion that Dave Arch and co were covering the Phil Collins version of You Can’t Hurry love.

 

And then, last but totes not least, Natalie and Michael’s American Smooth – Natbot's first Wembley, and BOY WAS SHE GOING TO GO FOR IT.  All Out Hollywood Golden Era Glam: gold, spangles, feathers, tails, Sinatra, lifts, high kicks, jazz hands – and it was bloody brilliant.  How she managed to get jiving Michael to do that – well, someone’s programmed her fembot drive with seven years of Hogwarts spells, as there’s no way that happened without some serious black magic. I absolutely loved it - I’ve been completely won over by our Nats, it seems - so that’s only Aliona on the StrictlyCad Bah List these days. (On the subject of Aliona, I'm obviously glad her ankle is finally better and that she's able to get back on the dancefloor, but I can't help but smirk that she still hasn't reappeared in the SCD credits - I’m imagining a high to enormous level of fury, mainly directed at poor Iveta.  I wonder what are they going to do for the finale - a Johnny Ball three-way?  Dear me. Let's hope not.) 

 

For the record, Bruce is on a special bitch list of his own, entitled “People who should be nowhere near Strictly and should go hang out on the golf course all Saturday”. 

 

Tess has more or less won me over too, especially as she was back in some semi-frock horrors this week, even if it was on the muted end of the TessDressMess scale.  Saturday was Disney Evil Queen vamp with extra shoulder pad, which I’d probably have loathed on anyone else, but you know, CONTEXT, and Sunday was a mini dress made of shiny corduroy, which (shhhh) I actually quite liked – but again, it’s all relative, eh?  I mean, it was pretty vile, really.  And essentially made of sofa.

 

But probably the best costume ludicrousness of the night was Kylie’s beefy backing dancers: shirt, tie, basque, booty shorts.  Standard Kylie man dancer fare, right?  But it is a whole new take on Casual Friday.

 

And so that was Wembley – I didn’t hate it, but my socks remained mainly unknocked – the sound was odd, the group dances were a bit erratic and full of randoms (disapprove), and that dancefloor swallows things up too much.  But, the dancing was pretty good, in spite of all that, and I’m sure the audience had a bloody brilliant time.  Obviously I’m not jealous that I totally failed to get a ticket, OH NO.

 

I also really enjoyed some of the other filler bits: the Sunday bumper car entrance was most chucklesome: powered by Anton and Artem, chauffered by deadly competitive Bruno and Tess, with Claudia hanging out the passenger seat still tipsy from David Mitchell and Victoria Coren’s wedding (WHAT A DRESS CLAUDE – WANT WANT WANT).  I also adored the bit in Len’s Lens when Bruno had a full on hissy fit about not being a fatty: “I AM THEEEEN, I AM THEEEEEEN, I AM THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN, I AM NOT HAPPY ABOUT THAT!”  (Someone will definitely have been fired - sadly not Bruce.) 

 

And then, of course, there was Girls Aloud and all their ‘go girls g-g-go go go’-ing, which was totally doing it for me, especially the mirror dresses, the complex dance routine comprised entirely of walking, and the ongoing Nadine-Cheryl pretending not to hate or outdo each other vibe.  I appreciate others may have alternative views.

 

Next week, normal studio service resumes, and things get properly competitive – Pendles, and maybe Nicky, aside, we're left with some seriously competent couples, even if they aren’t always consistent – will Victoria knock out a Big Gun?  She certainly could do...  We shall have to wait until Sunday to find out – well, for those with willpower.  I’d imagine the rest of us will grab the Digital Spy spoiler on Sunday, innit.  Until then, keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep cheating!

Series 10 - Week 6

Happy happy happy happy NO BRUCE WEEK, people!  Wasn't it good?  YES!  BLOODY GOOD! All hail Queen Claude and Competent Tess – I watched Strictly fury-free, with sprinkles of Winkles-inspired giggles throughout.  Can we have that every week please?  I'm sure Bruce was having a lovely time on the golf course or having a nap or watching Generation Game reruns, whilst we were having an equally lovely time not having to listen to terrible jokes and name-mangling.  Tess even donned a total horror for her top dog hosting duties – dressing as Sexy Donald Trump.  I knew she wouldn't let me down!  Sure, Sunday hailed a surprising - and surely temporary - return to her well-fitted cocktail dress run, but at least it was randomly made of Laura Ashley’s finest all-purpose home fabric (curtains, lamps, tablecloths, evening gowns – perfect for all your middle class needs) and she did match it with scarlet ankle boots – I’m still musing on that one.

 

As for the dance comp, well ciao for now, Artem's pecs.  Evidently, once you go full frontal paso, it's not enough to throw on an unbuttoned shirt and have your man-nips flirt with us – we want to see chest contour and we want to see it NOW, else we will coldly vote you off.  (Take heed, Robin Windsor.)  Fern did well to stay this far (thank you pectoral power) and, on balance, I quite enjoyed her salsa, with its added thigh and 'satirical' take on Kimba's boobie-flaunt at the judges' desk - although I could have done without the random cleaning lady faff and the unfortunate cut of her salsa dress around the upper back area.

 

So bye bye Fartem and sorry Vix - it's goodbye to your £1, but I'm sure you'll join me in paying tribute to Fern's hair, which was always exemplary. 

 

AND THEN TO THE SHOCKING DRAMA.  Kimba and Pashalicious in the Bottom Two!!! Well, that's what happens when you invite Cheryl Cole to watch you dance, it would seem - even if you do end up joint-second on the leader board.  I thought Kimba did a gorgeous Viennese Waltz of beautiful Princess Gorgonzola proportions, so I'm going to have to blame Chezza, and Pasha's determination to take the razor to his own hair again.   And possibly also the silvery fish skin finish to Kimba's dress which, as Mr Cad so wisely noted, looked like that bit under the salmon you're not sure if you're supposed to eat.

 

The Twitter debate rages on, but at times like this that I do feel particularly pro-dance-off.  I appreciate the argument that the D-O affects people's voting/sympathy patterns and leaves the top lot more vulnerable, but at least we can (generally) rely on the judges to save the better dancers - I'd have been pretty annoyed to see Kimberley leave over Fern, Richard, Pendles, Nicky and Michael, and maybe even some of the others.  But I get that we're in for a sticky old time if it's not just the middle of the table that needs extra vote action and even the frontrunners aren't getting the phone calls.  Sure, there was a fair old bit of jostling at the top this week, as there was a very high number of great performances, but STILL – Pasherley were in silver medal position, so they had a head start on everyone but James and Denise.

 

Indeed, Van Jam must be quaking a bit, as next week they won't be able to rely on the delicious Ian to 'moder-Waite' old JJ and make him seem less of a **** (fill in as appropriate).  James made a concerted effort to laugh along at all the 'I love Ian' comments in the VT and play it jokey jealous (he didn't have to stretch his acting skills too hard, eh?).  And (I think) he was genuine in his public thank yous, but he couldn't sustain the niceties and right at the end, post score-giving, he finally broke cover, with a hugely peeved and sarcastic “all right, Denise”, signalling that enough was enough.  Mind you, his fury might also have been on account of the tremendous pain from dancing on a botched jelly-ankle.  Ouchy.

 

I loved their paso though – even if James was dressed as a matador-cyclist/aging Hunger Games tribute. I'm just a total sucker for a dramatic paso doble and now think they should probably all be danced to Seven Nation Army.

 

I'm also a total sucker for a dramatic tango and it turns out that I'll enjoy the drama just as much if it opens with a shot of Vinthent Simone dialling a pretend phone and giving it some Italian rhubarb rhubarb (“rababaro rababaro”) - though it turns out (ta Len’s Lens) that he was actually going method and was trying to phone-sex Darcey with a bunch of ‘bellas’ and a reference to himself as the Italian Pony – HOW I LAFFED.  Meanwhile Dani Harmer looked on from behind the perspex with daggers in her eyes - what an actress!  She managed to pretend she was utterly crazed with lust for Vinthent without breaking down in unstoppable giggles.  She even carried off the appropriate dramz in a belly top and jitterbug skirt, which was a little odd, but I suppose there's no reason why a fifties pin-up can't express her frustration through the medium of tango.

 

On the downside, distinct lack of Vinth wig.

 

Anyway, with such great performances from Dani, Denise and Kimba, Louis had to settle for fourth place – in large part down to Craig's über-grumpy under-scoring.  I mean, I can pass on waltzes too, but Louis did his very competently, in spite of his continued ignore-the-fart face. (Maybe it's JUST HIS FACE). 

 

It was also nice how Flavia engineered things to finish on a garden sex swing – I'd have thought that would be right up Craig's street...   But no, and Louis got a 6.  The judges had a right old row about it, shouting Craig down and Len referring to his comments as a “load of bolognaise”, which I'm sorry to say made me laugh out loud.  Bruce would probably have waded in with some incomprehensible Bruce waffle and pretend Victorian boxing, but Tess just stood on by and let them have it out in a cacophony of pompous judge noise, all sneering East End, posh no no nos and wild Italian gesturing/personal-space obliviousness – this is not a criticism.

 

I'm usually with Craig (or thereabouts), but scoring Louis the same as Fern was a little WTFy, let's face it...  Only Michael was scored lower, but seeing as he was back to “batting for the latin side” (BRUNO 4EVA), it was fairly inevitable that he wouldn't be getting any high paddle action.  Michael's salsa wasn't quite the all-out wonderful hot mess that we saw with his jive, but it did have some excellent hip mince, performed in his very own time signature.  But they also had some cracking lifts - 'crack' being the operative word, as Natalie decided she would see Artem's pecs and raise him some turquoise lacy knickers.

 

Indeed it was buttocks galore, as, rather surprisingly, Erin also flashed her pants – though at least her bum was more modestly covered in high denier lilac.  Erin’s not a natural charleston dancer – too much poise and not enough gawky quirk - but she knew full well what was expected of her and clearly accepted that comedy bum slapping was a necessary evil - and it paid off, as they've made Wembley.  They can celebrate down the Gin Bar.  She also made sure there was some (sort of) swimming in there, even if it wasn't the full commitment to lying on the floor, mounting your partner and breast-stroking. (THE STROKE, NOT THE... Oh, never mind).  I especially enjoyed Richard's teenage hysteria at getting through to Wembley – as surprised as the rest of us that he's made it this far.  And probably still drunk.

 

Pendles is still hanging on too, by *literally* hanging on to Brendan mainly - a quickstep requires lots of speedy footwork, regardless of how hard you're clinging on, but fortunately the OLYMPIC ATHLETE could keep up on on that front, even if it looked a bit gallopy here and there.  She also managed a dabble in acting, playing the role of the beautiful but haughty mega-affluent New York WASP bossing about our Brendan (the bell boy of ballroom).  Seeing as Brendan could have picked pretty much ANY scenario from his mind, it's interesting to note that he went for a submissive role; dragging luggage for tips’n’totty, before offering up his package to Craig for inspection.  Perhaps I’m reading too much into it.

Nicky seems to be improving too, although my favourite parts of his foxtrot were Karen’s dress colour (shame about the rhinestone mermaid bodice) and their funky microphone whirling, which is Alanis Morrissette-ironic really, seeing as neither of those things were proper foxtrot bits.  Also, I don’t understand the point of carry-it-yourself microphone stands - but at least no-one Westlife-related used this one for singing.

 

I preferred Lisa and Robin’s foxtrot, in spite of the lack of chiffon-for-him – seriously guys, if Lisa was in chiffon from the thigh down, why not Mr Windsor too?  I mean, imagine!  (Especially as this series has been disappointingly low on fancy trousers, so far.)  The judges raved about it, so I was expecting some nines, but no cigar.  But I did enjoy the tense moment when Len told Lisa she had the F-factor, and everyone took a sharp inhale of breath, before Len explained that it stood for foxtrot and footwork and fun.  Phew.

 

As for the Sunday pro-dance, well, I urge you to catch Midnight Tango live, if you can – my sister, mum and I saw it last year and it was goooooooood, even if (and this is properly bitchy, even by my standards) it turns out that the world’s other amazing AT dancers aren’t quite as attractive and glossy as Vinthent and Flavia – I mean, unless Vinth'n'Flavs purposefully didn’t chose the most godlike beautifully gorgeous co-dancers, lest they be outshined...  I mean, as if!   Ahem.  Miaow.  Sorry.  YAH.

 

Talking of godlike beauty, Andre Rieu – HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh, I amuse myself, at least.  It’s his hair, I think – there’s a particularly satisfying comic effect that you get from bouffant locks on a receding hairline.  Anyway, Andre had a good old fiddle whilst Natalie and Brendan did some rumba writhing, before he revealed an army of terrifying bridesmaid automatons, equipped with string instruments you just KNOW could turn into machine guns at a moment’s notice.  It’s a Dr Who plot waiting to happen, if it hasn’t already.

 

And that was that – an excellent week of dancing and NO BRUCE!  Let’s have another Claude and Tess yelp of joy, shall we?  WHOOP!  Next week, Bruce returns and we head to Wembley - cue major timing issues and utterly ridiculous VTs about... oh I dread to think.  Who’ll be fired from the Russell Grant memorial cannon this year?  My money’s on Richard.  Or perhaps Aliona, who's back for a pro-dance, with several weeks of supressed narcissism to impose on us all.  Hooray!  In the meantime, you know the drill, keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep... innit.

Series 10 - Week 5

OMG BIG DRAMZ! And the mid-table curse claims another victim. There were four couples with fewer points than Colin and Kristina, and one other couple on the same score, and yet it was Colina, and Julie’s £1, for the chop.  What does this tell us?  Well, that fans of daytime TV, Westlife and chronically toned abs are more likely to be at home with their phones on a Saturday night than Resident Evil enthusiasts (surprising).  It also tells us (like we didn't know) that the judges' scores are basically plucked at random on a egotistical whim, rather than methodologically determined via a consistent, cross-checked, carefully thought-out tally system. (Though, in his defence, Len did admit to some sort of rule - confirming he'll attribute one extra point for lady boobie shaking up at the judges' desk.)
  

I didn't think Colin and Kristina's foxtrot was too bad at all; once again Kristina (this week dressed as Barbie Loo Roll Holder) found a multitude of ways to deal with the vast distance between their respective chins and I quite enjoyed Colin's flamboyant kicks, even if Darcey meanly likened them to some John Cleese legography (fortunately clarifying that she meant his Silly Walks and not Basil Fawlty taking on a particular German stereotype).  However, come the dance off, it felt like they’d already given up, and his high kicks lacked gusto, as did the rest of the dance.  I’m sure I saw Colin shed a tear and his 'wiggle your finger at the judges' move looked more like a wave goodbye. I was sad too - in spite of their rather defeatist performance, it felt quite harsh to see them go before some of the other couples (coughFERN&VICTORIAcough).

Has anyone checked on Kristina?  Hopefully Joe Calzaghe is there for her, as I'd imagine she'll be inconsolable just now – not all Russians have Artem's robotic approach to emotional outpourings.  Even though the prod team totally screwed her over this year, Kristina tried exceptionally hard to produce some great routines for her and Colin; creaking her neck and stretching her arms like NEVER BEFORE to dance with the giant one – we could practically see the cogs in her brain whirring around as she worked out how the hell to choreograph her way through trials like the stupid height difference and lucrative American dramas filming in Canada.  I bloody love Kristina.  The campaign for la Rihanoff to get the 2013 He-Ringer STARTS HERE.  He should be short and young and popular and lithe and (ideally) pre-trained as a dancer.

I bloody love Erin too – so she can have the other He-Ringer for 2013 (if she hasn’t turned to pregnancy or a well-deserved ocean cruise holiday by then).  Of course, it’s no surprise to see Erin’s defying the odds with Richard so far – Miss Whiplash has the steely determination and sheer balls to survive several weeks beyond her partner’s sell by date.  It will take a brave judge to look her in the eye at D-O elimination and not say her name.

On Saturday, Erin and Richard’s foxtrot truly was a dahhnce dis-ahhhhh-ster, so we were all pretty sure that they’d get another go at it on Sunday – if only to show us how Erin had intended Big Spender to look.  I'll admit that I preferred their first go – to my mind, a foxtrot can always do with spicing up, although just shuffling around looking freaked before collapsing into giggles is a risky notion.  My guess is that they had decided to attempt method acting, and, seeing as the concept was Richard turning up at Erin's Gin Palace and seducing her through the power of liquor, pinstripe and money, they decided to spend all their rehearsals at the bar - it's just that Miss Whiplash can totally hold her martini, whereas two gin slings later, Richard Arnold is anyone's.  However, he must have had a few coffees and Erin-administered slaps in the interval, as their dance-off foxtrot went off without a hitch, whilst Colina dejectedly stumbled.

We're always hearing about how tricky particular dances are (foxtrot, rumba and samba seem to get the most press on that front), so it probably wasn't too much of a surprise that it was two foxtrots in the bottom two – especially for those of us who find the foxtrot only mildly less snoresome than the waltz.  But Nat and Michael's foxtrot sailed through this week, with great scores and comments - deserved, I think, as Richard’s finally clicked with ballroom, after Hanging Basket Bum Gate.  I wasn’t entirely sure about Natbot's rather bizarre notion to set a sophisticated foxtrot on the seafront.  Was there a candyfloss pun or something that I missed?  Maybe it was inspired by the fouffe-i-ness of Nat's ballgown, which was was very fouffe-y indeed.

Random seaside concept aside, shall we briefly celebrate how lovely it was to be theme-free this week? HOORAY!  Well, other than the unofficial BOOB THEME – it was Push Up a go go.  Tess and Erin particularly took it upon themselves to instigate an impromptu Hooters Week, but was Artem who won the Best Breasticle crown – going fully topless, in a shameless AND SUCCESSFUL attempt to keep Fartem in for at least one more round.  I've had to watch their paso again (I know – such a drag), as all I remember from first time around was Pecs Ahoy and Ahoy Some More, oiled and broody, and...  well no wonder Fern needed a giant fan prop.  It's worth multiple viewings really, as eventually Artem's chest starts to blur and you notice other touches of class – like the comedy trambone waaah waaah paso music and the fact that the choreography is a perfect blend of Artem peacocking, whilst Fern stands still and skirt-wafts, and Artem going all greco-roman and throwing Fern on the ground a lot – total kudos for the way she just takes it, with a resigned expression and instinctive rigor mortis, before she topples to the ground.  It must've HURT.

  

Anyway, the lesson here is that nudity works, so we can all expect Artem in Y-fronts next week and God help the BBC Complaints Department if they make it a fortnight.  Full Frontal Wembley. 

It might even get competitive - if Robin and Lisa start to near the dangerzone, Mr Windsor could undoubtedly put up a good fight in the battle of the Protein Shake Buff Off.  And part of me hopes Ri-Ro start to feel the fear soon, as we haven't been graced with a proper Windsor nipple sighting for at least two weeks now.  I hope I’m being honest when I say it wasn't the lack of flesh that put me off their tango, as I don't think it would have helped - the main problem was the terrible, terrible song choice.  I'm no purist - I'm quite up for a pop-tango, but Let's Stick Together completely lacked the dramatic impact needed in this case.  The whole thing was also far too purple - I'm going to have nightmares of Willy Wonka binging on Quality Street and Silk Cut at a Prince concert after that. (CAUSE ALL THOSE THINGS ARE PURPLE, RIGHT?)

Nicky Westlife also got a pretty shoddy outfit in the draw – male rumbas are tricky at the best of times, but even a decade of being in Westlife can't be more embarrassing than having to get his hip action on whilst wearing that turquoise nylon blouse-igan. I wonder which old lady Wardrobe mugged for that one? Clearly an old lady who collects horrible fake Swarovski animal broaches, and had them merrily pinned all over her overgarments.  But Nicky is a good sport and he knows the value of just getting on with the artistically dubious and sucking it up, as it's made him a gazillionaire.  So he managed not to laugh for ninety seconds whilst Karen writhed around him and did some sexy sniffing (which may not be the official name for the move, but that's what Mr Cad termed it).  The judges were typically harsh, but Nicky must be used to that by now - and it only serves to make Westlife's core fanbase phone all the harder.  Again, they’re used to responding to scathing artistic criticism with their wallets - and a phone call's got to be cheaper than a fullscale back tattoo.

Victoria, on the other hand, usually has an array of lovely comments from judges, regardless of how the dance went (no-one wants to make the Olympian weep, though I’m disappointed that Tess hasn’t had a go with a particularly biting question).  This week, the three judges we did hear from were a little more critical.... oh yes, that’s right – the THREE judges, and if you can sense bitterness in my voice, well YOU ARE DAMN RIGHT I'M BITTER.  Seriously!!!!  It happened throughout the show that we couldn’t hear from all four judges, I assume because of time concerns, and it was a total pile of crapskull!  We have to put up with extensively rubbish Bruce faff for several million hours, which he apparently can't do in the allocated time, what with his inability to read the auto-cue (PasTa Kovalev, anyone), leaving us with too little time to hear what the DANCE judges have to say about the DANCING competition, and.... ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH etc. 

(To be honest, there’s plenty more where that came from, all riffing on a very familiar theme, in pure unadulterated high volume block capitals, but I’m going to leave it there for the sake of my typing muscles.  But needless to say, it angers me somewhat.)

Returning to Brendleton, it's worth noting that they also got a rough deal in the wardrobe stakes. They’d put Victoria’s perfect frame in an ice-skating dress inspired by the lingerie section of the Freeman's catalogue, with an inexplicable belly button peephole and weird silk boob pockets that made her cups look oddly under-filled.  Meanwhile, Brendan was dressed in a white sequin-studded chiffon shirt, not quite slashed to the navel, which redefined all notions of 'vile'.  Though, obviously, on Robin it would have been a complete triumph.

As for their samba, well I'm not going to criticise, because I have recently discovered firsthand how difficult the samba is - at my weekly zumba class, which I'm sure is an entirely appropriate and equivalent comparison.  Getting that bounce action – well, unlike Shakira, my hips have no choice but to tell a series of entirely fabricated porkies, as it's bloody difficult.  Course, Olympic Louis doesn’t find the hip action so tricky, does he – he happily bounced and pelvic-thrusted his way throughout his samba routine, showing his well-constructed form in a shirt made of 30 denier Wolford stockings and some rather snug trousers.  (Somebody pass me Fern's fan.) 

Inspired by Natalie (or was it vice versa), the concept for his and Flavia's samba was *literally* constructed around a hastily built beach hut, plonked on the Strictly stage, complete with coconut cocktails and straws (I’m surprised they didn’t also have Anton behind the bar, manning the drinks).  Licence fee payers will be delighted to know that the beach shack was used for all of three seconds in the routine, although it did play a pivotal role as a bar(re) against which Louis had a good old bum shake.  

Come judging, Darcey pretended that the Louis’ samba wasn't doing it for her, which was total fib city, but I don’t blame her - she's not unreasonably decided to nip it in the bud with the ‘filthy old mare’ persona that Bruce and the production had decided to foist on her and reel it back a notch for a few weeks.  (Also, she knows better than to tread any further on Arlene's turf.)   However, the men were freely able to declare that Louis was great, without having to worry about endless weeks of horny cougar/lady thigh rubber stereotyping, so the truth still came out.  Len then happily bore on about a whole load of official samba steps that are probably real, but he might equally have completely made up on the spot; one was called ‘the maypole’ which I suppose is in keeping with Flavia’s penchant for bondage.

Louis Face Watch: keep smiling and pretend you can't smell the fart.
Flavia Hair Watch: Duane Dibbley bedhead.

Talking of bad hair, BLOODY PASHA. He's gone and got the razor out again, hasn't he?  And it's not like I can blame Aliona's return, seeing as she's not back on the scene yet.  Anyway, the Pasha-Kimba salsa opened with Kimberley descending from the ceiling on a ring swing (RING FAFF), before shaking her mane for a good minute (HAIR FAFF), then slapping both hands on the judges' desk and shaking it some more (SHAMELESS SUCK-UP TACTICS FAFF).  Having said that, there was plenty of funky 'armology' (NEW TERM! NEW TERM! Or possibly Bruno inadvertently mangling the English language even more than usual) and there were a few choice lifts in there too, even if they had something of the judo throw about them.  I thought it was a bit tame, but the judges loved it. Craig, especially, went all Shift + F7 on its ass and threw out a thesaurus of words beginning with L, all variations on 'whorishly dancing like a right little prick-tease'.  Kimba was delighted – it’s unclear whether or not she had a full grasp of the dictionary meanings, but I think we can all agree he meant them as a compliment.

Compliments were showered on Van Jam too, with a very elegant Viennese Waltz, even if we had to gaze on the tacky blond highlight tips in what remains of James Jordan's hair.  (Another one for my Bad Hair List *sigh*.)  I do find James Jordan irritatingly confusing – once again he comes up with a lovely piece of graceful choreography designed to please both Len and Craig (and successfully so!) and yet he ruins it with his lads’ night clubbing barnet – just a Ben Sherman shirt away from getting Id-ed by a furious bouncer. 

Denise got a bunch of 9s (though not from Darcey) and the race is now on for the first 10 – it's got to be a Van Outen-Louis showdown, right?  Mind you – outside bet – it's not completely impossible that Dani could sneak a ten soon.  She pulled a out a cracking jive and, particularly impressively, managed to get through it without pissing herself laughing at Vinthent's new wig – this week he'd come as a fifties Vulcan.  Perhaps she managed to hold off the laughter because the comedy of Vinthzie Simonerelli's hair was offset by her own slightly suspect outfit; a cutesome fifties dress cut from the leopard print curtains of Erin's Gin Palace.

Erin’s Gin Palace... I totally want to go now – I bet it would be AMAZING.  Who's in? I propose we go there for absinthe and bitching, after pre-dinner cocktails at Flavia's Beach Bar and burgers at Vinthent's Diner.  We could even make a day of it and check out Natalie's Candyfloss Stall in the afternoon.

And whilst we're there, perhaps we can be entertained by the Strictly Male Professional Dance Troupe – who trotted out a frankly hilarious dance number, all thrusts, chests and man-pouts.  Artem was dangled from the ceiling like a modern dance Jesus, Robin wiggled his bum with Brazilian frenzy and Vinthent leaped out of the audience with the sexually-charged fervour of a kitten attacking some wool.  It was equal parts Chippendale, Backstreet Boys and cocktail waiter, no doubt carefully designed to juice the oestrogen and HRT levels like NOTHING BEFORE!  But... well, it left me hot flush-free, I’m afraid.  Basically it didn't have enough a) blatant homo-eroticism or b) lime-green string vest and/or c) pleather waistcoat action.  But I suppose we should be relieved that Anton wasn't involved. 

However, I think I’d rather see Anton do homo-erotic latin in string vest pleather than watch The Wanted again.  UNWANTED MORE LIKE.  Ha!  Bet no-one’s thrown that verbal smackdown at them before!  Well, other than a billion people, including me - this time in 2011 when they last appeared.  Nothing like a bit of self-plagiarism, eh?  What stood then, stands now – and I certainly stand by my assessment that they are very shit and majority fugly.  A year has not improved them.

Fortunately, The Unwanted were followed by a truly fantastic pro-routine to Nessun Dorma – lots of barefooted flailing and impressive showdance lifting.  At the start, there was a brief moment when I actually thought Katya was BACK AMONGST US, but it was actually Karen taking on Pasha duties.  What a chore for her.

Anyway, that’s the dancing done, so it’s time to devote a rather belated bitchy old paragraph to perennial favourite TessDressMess.  Thing is, Tess didn't all-out misfire this time round, neither on Saturday nor Sunday - worrying times.  I mean, it's not ideal that the inspiration for Tess' Saturday dress was Pamela Anderson's Baywatch cossie in evening gown form, with added leg split to not-so-tastefully offset the rather large crowd on the Daly balcony (Hello Wonderbra).  But the truth is this - that red dress could SO easily have been a red jumpsuit that I'm marking it down as relative TessDressSuccess.  Sunday's milkmaid come cocktail dress wasn’t markedly hideous either – I'm not a fan of LWDs, but it fit her comparatively well.  And I certainly preferred to it Darcey's massive beaded ruff – it takes a brave girl to take on so many pearl necklaces.

I just hope Tess is saving the monster of all frock horrors for next week, where she'll be in charge, ably assisted by the comedy genious that is la Winkleman.  (I love Len’s Lens, and I don’t care who knows it.)  I predict that Tess will amp up the sluttiness, seeing as there’s no Bruce to fight off during their contractually obligated “stars of our show” crotch to buttock 'dance' move, she can feel free to explore her inner harlot. 

It says a lot about my level of Forsythe-presentation-hate that I'm really looking forward to having Tess at the helm for a couple of hours, but I truly cannot wait for NO BRUCE WEEK!  I hope he has an enjoyable rest on the golf course, maybe to the extent that he, you know, keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeps playing.  Say, every Saturday evening?  Lovely.

Series 10 - Week 4

So remember how Strictly week 4 was on a billion years ago? Well, just after (coincidence?!) I got struck down with the blurghy and was unable to do much beyond lie on my sofa in a haze of phlegm, periodically waking in time to watch America's Next Top Model and/or Pointless. Anyway, I finally had a window of clear sinus action in which I felt a little perkier and promptly got my blog on, so, a blur of typing later, here we are. Disclaimer: it's entirely possible that this post, sponsored by kiwi fruit and Boot's lemsip substitute, will be mildly hysterical and nonsensical. What's new, I hear you cry. BOOM BOOM. ACHOO. SNIFF. SPLUTTER. COUGH. ETC. YAH.

Right then, shall we cast our minds back to Halloween Week (a chore, I know)? Cue rubbish ghosty noise. And cue goodbye to Sid and Ola. Remember when I so wisely asked you to mark my words that Team Sola would be with us til Wembley? Well, I can now officially reveal that I was only saying that to instill some extra suspense into proceedings and I *totally* knew they'd always be out early doors. Totally knew it. By the way, a propos of nothing, and in no way trying to tempt fate, Fern's definitely going to win this thing and Denise is bound to be out super soon. Fo' sho'.

I feel sorry for Rickaay and Ola (and Justine who's lost her £1), as they had to face tough circumstances this week with Ola (entirely understandably) heading off to Poland to see her mum who had taken ill. Supply Pro Iveta stepped in to cover training - even channeling her best lady-Jordan by rehearsing in a one-armed animal print catsuit, but it just goes to show how important practising with your actual partner is, because when Ola returned for the live show, Sola weren't quite clicking with the routine and fell pretty flat.  

Mind you, I also got the impression (falsely? unfairly?) that Sid Owen could also be a slightly petulant, perhaps even sulky fellow - a little reticent about the nature/music/concept of his recent dances (Rock Tango and Ghostbusters Cha Cha), who had some trouble throwing all his effort and enthusiasm behind what he was doing... In his defence, I also think theme weeks are a pile of gimmicky old stink and two in a row seemed zap the sass out of the Strictly gang.  Well, except Vinthent, utterly delighted with his platinum Beatles wig – and who wouldn't be? (Clue: anyone with half an eye for hair-likeless, who has current knowledge of a current BBC scandal.)

Whilst I can imagine that it might be fairly hard to cha cha chaaaar to the Ghostbusters tune, when the natural instinct is to freestyle it wedding disco, I still felt that just donning jumpsuits and waving guns around for ninety seconds was an especially poor show. Arguably, the outfits themselves were also a bit of a handicap, as they were rubs; and after last week's 'sweat glitter' colour scheme, was it really fair to ask Sid to try and bring sexy back wearing beige?   The nation's men-folk may disagree, but I thought that even Ola struggled in her outfit – and if Ola Jordan is having trouble carrying off romper shorts, then what hope is there for the rest of us? Mind you, what's the point in hoping to pull off a hideous beige playsuit in the first place? NO TESS NO – IT WAS JUST A RHETORICAL QUESTION BASED ON HOW SELF-EVIDENTLY VILE SUCH AN ITEM WOULD BE.

Let's hurry on, shall we?

I suppose it's not uncommon for middle-aged men attempting latin to come a cropper on Strictly, but I felt like Sid and his dance-off opponent Colin had/have far more potential than many of our previous contestants (Gary Rhodes Bum Bongo), so it was quite harsh to see them both in the bottom two.  But they didn't really up their game this week, whereas others did. And although Colin's lifts were pretty good and his latin dancing wasn't so bad (or dad), his salsa did lack the sexy/dirty YAH Merlin/Gandalf/Harry Potter we'd been promised (although, on balance, that isn't necessarily a bad thing).  I think the main trouble was that he just looked a bit worried throughout.  Maybe he thought he'd left his hair dryer plugged in at home.  Oh hang on...

Anyway, although I might have had trouble calling the bottom two, we did get an insight into what the producers think about the celebs' overall chances for the series.  During the opening Halloween group dance, it was Louis, Kimba, Lisa and (interestingly) Dani who were pushed to the front of the zombie dance troop for some Thriller ballroom (Van Jam can't have been too chuffed).  Meanwhile, Sid and Colin and poor Fern were excused from part of their dance troop duties and were shunted behind the judges' desk, forced to don ridiculous false vamp gnashers and administer air-love-bites to Bruno et al. (Fern tactically went for head judge Len, whilst Darcey got the jackpot of Artem vamp-pawing her. 

I quite enjoyed the group dance actually - the whole thing was surprisingly slick and unshambolic.  But best of all, we can all claim extra Natbot bingo points, as she did her classic 'finish the last pose slightly after everyone else, so that ALL EYES ARE ON MEEEEEEE' move. (Erm, don't tell anyone, but I'm starting to love Natbot.)

And so began Halloween week.  Were we terrified much?  Well, no, not really.  But there were two things that freaked me out unnecessarily - firstly, Bruce doing Gangnam Style. ARGH! JUST NO! Can whoever is putting all this yoof stuff in Bruce's script please be immediately fired? (Ideally that would be Bruce himself *crosses everything*)  After seeing his giddy-up attempts, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to enjoy the Psy horsey dance again - and that's truly truly sad. (You may define 'sad' as you wish.)

As for the second truly scary moment, well it feels like blasphemy, travesty and sacrilege to say it, but say it, I must – Claudia Winkleman's horrible Sunday outfit. *hangs head in shame* It's a sad and unexpected day when la Daly is the better dressed one, but Tess' Sunday LBD with sequined handprints on the knockers and added glitterboob detail was still preferable to Claude's gothic granny curtain over full length black body stocking. It looked fine when la Winkles was sitting down, with the leggings/sheer skirt combo hidden, and the outfit became disguised as a funky dress, but really, the overall effect was my greatest fear realised – somehow, somehow, Claudia had been dressed by Tess' stylist. A whole world of no.

But I still love you Claude, so let us move on quickly.   I'm even going to praise Tess' Saturday dress - she looked rather slinky in shiny olive, although the boob window decolletage pretty much epitomised the French saying 'il y'a du monde au balcon'. (Literal translation: 'there's a crowd on the balcony'. Actual meaning: 'she has humongous knick-knocks').  But don't fear TessMessDress fans - I'm sure she'll frock things up next week! And in the meantime, we can all have a bitchy chuckle at this Daily Mirror article entitled “How to dress to impress! Tess Daly's red carpet style guide”.

One thing that certainly DID NOT IMPRESS were the Halloween VTs – just AWFUL. Although I did quite enjoy listening to Vinthent say how he was dancing with a dog again this week – there was enough of a pause before he mentioned Scooby Doo for us to momentarily all think he was on about Dani.  It turns out that while the Scooby Doo theme itself is pretty awesome as a 20 second TV theme, it's a bit of a stretch over a minute and a half, so it wasn't ideal for Dani and Vinth to have to do a whole dance to it.  Mind you, I probably needed at least a minute to laugh at the costumes – primarily at Vinthent's mop wig OBVIOUSLY, but also how wardrobe had turned Dani into 'Sexy Velma', sexing up geeky ghost hunting by matching NHS specs and orange knee highs, with stiletto dance sandals and a bum frill skirt-belt.

The Sexy Velma just goes to prove what I've long since known - the most hilarious fancy dress is always an attempt to sex up the unsexable. By way of example, please let me share my all-time favourite 'Sexy' Fancy Dress outfit, which I spotted a few years ago as I dodged my way down the Bristol waterfront on a Saturday night and had the very good fortune to come across a young lady dressed as 'Sexy Where's Wally'.

Yes, people, that's 'Sexy Where's Wally'.  And for those of you intrigued/inspired, the outfit requires stilettos, blue thigh high socks, stripy vest and pants (key point: no trousers), accessorised with round glasses, 'sexy' booble hat and 17 pints of cider. Pure Bristolian class.

Given that context, I suppose that, on balance, I was slightly let down by the lack of comedy dress-up in general terms, and especially from Denise and James - doing a Superfreak cha cha in talc and zebra print (mind you, those trews could be yet another contender for the Best Strictly Trousers poll).  At first, I half-hoped that Denise was going to do the wildly inappropriate Little Miss Sunshine dance, but turns out they were going for a half-hearted circus freak theme, with some minimal cage action and no bearded lady (what a wasted opportunity for Strictly's excellent wig master).  Their dance was ok, if nervous and a little safe, but I think I was always going to be disappointed because of the music; Superfreak is a fine song, but I can't listen to it without wanting to shout “You Can't Touch This” and “Stop! Hammer Time!” throughout and not-so-secretly wishing it was MC Hammer I was listening to... 

Wow. THERE'S a Halloween outfit with amazing potential: 'Sexy MC Hammer'! I'm thinking gold hareem chaps, Richard Arnold's bolero jacket and some braces over the nipples. Not for me, OBVIOUSLY...

Richard sported his bolero very well though, I thought.  And Erin must have been glad to direct the camp into flamboyant drama this week, pasoing to the X-Factor Results Music. She had also whiplashed out her mascara brush and smeared it all over Richard's face, so not only was she PLAYING his beard, he also HAD one! OH HO HO HO! (Geddit? It's a thinker...) Their performance had all the paso hallmarks - stamping, pouting, frowning, gurning, olé-ing, knicker-flashing and cape-swirling. It wasn't quite the testosterone macho-fest she produced for Austin Healey but I enjoyed it immensely.

I also enjoyed Lisa and Robin's charleston, though, for me, it didn't quite have the perk we've seen from them in previous weeks – Robin looked a bit manic, which made Lisa look (comparatively) a bit knackered, but her timing was still excellent and they (sort of) put some swimming in there (arguably it was more of a sexually adventurous dry hump, but this is still supposed to be a family show), so I'm still feeling the Team Ri-Ro love.  Also Lisa was wearing lime green spider fishnets, which is a tough look for even the slenderest of legs, but she fully committed and made it work.   However, I'm disappointed Robin wasn't wearing a matching top – it's been at least, what, a week(?) since we saw the Windsor bod in skintight patterned chiffon and lime green spider web would have been a total Halloween treat.

I don't want to discriminate, mind, and would have also happily accepted Artem in lime green chiffon – though I suppose the perveometer was still ring-a-dinging for his and Fern's American Smooth, as he rocked bare chest with cropped PVC waistcoat and pleather evening gloves. (I'm thinking Sexy Gendry from Game of Thrones - although the 'Sexy' pre-fix is a total given. I mean, if there's a word to describe Game of Thrones... actually, it would be 'FILTH'). 

Dance-wise, Team Fartem mainly American Faffed, in spite of their lifts.  Cue a word of warning: they're going to have to sort the wheat from the faff before too long though, or Len's wick will be making an unwelcome appearance.

Len's wick was kept in check for our two late bloomers, Nicky Westlife and Victoria Pendleton, who were both tango-ing - and it seemed to suit them pretty well.  Nicky and Karen went for a tango to Weird Science, which – if memory serves – is that film where two adolescent geeks grow a woman with giant boobs. Nicky played the role of the white besuited wine waiter in nerd glasses, which is not a scene I remember, but I'm rubbish with recalling film plots.

Brendan and Victoria did a White Wedding tango, complete with zombie altar, zombie wedding dress and crazed zombie-doll eyelashes, which looked AWESOME and clearly gave Vic the confidence she needed to dance a quite a stormer!  Sure, it was a shunted-around-by-Brendan-with-a-messy-foot-mistake-that-was-subsequently-totally-overscored stormer, but it was good to see her recover from an error and get back into the stomping without Pendle-tears. And I really loved the concept – but Billy Idol and Strictly is a pairing that has serious form.

However, the biggest surprise was Michael's quality quickstep – errrr WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?!!!  I'll tell you where – the chip in Natbot's circuitboard that allows her to entirely circumvent processing the theme week ruling and just do her own thing.  In your FACE, theme weeks.  Talking of face – what was going on with Michael's graffiti ringmaster's moustache? The make-up department must have been a little peeved – after a series of impressively weirdly and wonderfully made-up faces, out comes Michael decorated with wonky magic marker.  I'm guessing James Jordan pranked it on whilst Michael was having a snooze. At least that would explain why wardrobe furiously dressed James as a zebra-legged fawn with a serious cocaine habit.

Again, we got the two best dances saved til last, which was highly needed, as Michael’s joyous quickstep aside, it was generally a rather lacklustre evening. But things picked right on up with main contenders Louis and Kimberley - though they were certainly 'lucky' to have avoided a party dance like the cha cha, which meshes less well with Halloween week than dramatic, moody dances like the tango and paso doble.

And because of that, Louis' seriousconcentrationface worked perfectly this week, especially as he was also playing a zombie - and quite comedically, no less.  I suppose it also helps that he has excellent posture, speedy feet and innate hotness, as well as the ability to throw a flip in there to spice things up - even if he did naughtily cancan higher than our Flavs, tut tut. The judges excitedly threw a whole load of nines at him, which was fiercely debated in our house, as whilst it was GOOD, we weren't sure it was NINE-GOOD.

What was certain chez Strictlycad was that if it was nine-good, then, in that case, Kimba's paso was also nine-good and she woz totes robbed, in comparison.  Obviously Kimberley and Pasha started with some natural advantages – her arm placement and pout, but who could also ignore the specialness of Pasha's were-wolverine bum-fluff and Kimberley's fire hazard nylon wig? I'm fairly sure the whole thing bore little relation to the original Red Riding Hood - for starters Kimba was wearing belly dancer turquoise and there was no grandmother (a missed opportunity for Anton to make his second cameo of the night), but it was still probably my favourite dance of the evening.

There was also a classic moment up in the balcony, post-paso, when Tess outright asked Kimba if Pasha could do sex with Girls Aloud on stage.  I'm fairly sure that wasn't what Tess meant to say, but it seems to have made the replay, if you fancy a listen.  Anyway, Kimba didn't comment on publicly group-sexing Pasha, but I've got tickets for the Girls Aloud tour (THANKS BETH), so will report back in 2013.

Sunday's pro-dance was a mildly entertaining Versailles Eyes Wide Shut Britney tribute, in which Vinthent had relinquished his yellow wig for a pussy bow. As for the musical guest – Paloma Faith may have missed a trick by not letting Lisa and Robin do their slightly insane waltz to her INXS cover, but seeing as she was part of It Takes Two's most random but GREATEST EVER FRIDAY PANEL (with Larry Lamb and the ever wonderful Mel Giedroyc) and had much hilarious 'insightful' commentary to share with Zoe and the gang, I won't hear a single bad word about her foghorn volume, backcombed cocktail gingfro or 'Sexy' Skeleton dancers.

Well, I'll be honest, I'm glad the themery is on hold for now - I had trouble getting excited about the general proceedings during Halloween Saturday (not least because it was DAYS away from actual Halloween) and the 'scary' make-up and frightening wiggery only went so far to combat the feeling of 'meh' about the dancing itself.  Still, at least things picked up towards the end.  But let's hope the SCD prod lot were over-themed too and have taken notes about what happens when you shoehorn in too much concept and not enough daahhhhnce, darling. Anyway, all back to normal for week 5 – which is good, as I'm sure they've used all the Strictly talc and contact lens supplies for this year.

Anyway, please excuse me as I head back under my blanket for a coughing fit.  I'll keep mainlining berocca, and you keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep healthy now.