Series 11 – Week 1

Good evening and welcome to the endurance test that is watching all fifteen couples come down the stairs and be introduced one by one (“Fiona Fullerton: Bond Girl and author” - never will that get tired). My GOD, IT TOOK FOREVER. So much so that my senses were dulled and I didn't even have the strength to bring out the Bruce hate. One gag even made me quietly chuckle, but I refuse to remember/admit which one.

Did we all enjoy the new titles? I feel like I might need to blog them separately, as I have MANY NOTES, including comments on Julien's immovable face, Tony's unfortunate pointing, Natalie's amazeballs hair, Robin's cheeseballs wink, the inevitable Feltz gurn... Course, the best thing about the titles, and indeed the best thing about the entire two shows, was *drum roll*....

Mr Dave Myers and his wonderful wonderful exuberance.

OMG – I am officially #teamshakeandbake. I love that Hairy Biker. I LOVE HIM. I don't really have many comments to make about his dance with Karen – I just urge you to click here and watch that cha cha over and over, then over some more. It's the stuff of knowing joyful comedy dance legend (as opposed to the painful embarrassment of lumping around a large confused ball of lady-lycra in a truss to music).  It was brilliant -  right down to the respectful tribute to the infamous Rihanoff-Sargeant floor drag. Dave was having the time of his life and so was the audience. Karen Hauer, I salute you.

At the other end of the scale... well, fortunately there are no eliminations this week, so Tony Jacklin will get to dance one more time, before the inevitable first exit, and the return to what must be a truly crappy little life in a mock ye olde Floridan mansion with easy access to constant sun and a golf course. Poor Tony. His waltz with Aliona was pretty poor, but it wasn't horrific as the judges made out and there was a certain sweetness to the father-daughter-saying-goodbye-at-the-rail-station-in-the-fifties storyline (well that's how I'm interpreting it). Aliona even shocked us all by actually getting Tony to try some steps (that he forgot them is by the by) and not just parking him at the back and prominently wiggling herself at the camera. But fear not – it's Tony Does Latin next week, so there's still all to play for! The Vilani derrière can still be shook, as Tony lurks behind, brandishing a glitter-dipped golf club.

But who will join him in the dance-off? (If they're doing that this year – I have no idea.) Points-wise, it's Dave, but he was MAGNIFICENT, so I refuse to entertain that notion. I suspect that it won't be Feltz either – as James coached and choreographed their cha cha very, very well: limited steps disguised by storyline, get Vanessa to have an audience-pleasing pop at Craig the instant she can – regardless of whether he's been mean to her or not (he wasn't, really) – and pop open the Jordan shirt in the hope that the laydeez will fancy him as much as the laddies fancy his wife (wishful thinking, as impressive as the extra fake tanning may be... but it will probably garner a vote or two). To be honest, the fact that Mr Cad didn't throw the nearest heavy object at our TV screen whilst Vanessa was on... well, that suggests that she is already ahead. She gives good soundbite – and that can carry you a looooong way.

Elsewhere, at the top of the scoreboard – as good as it was, I don't believe Abbey's waltz should have outscored Natalie. I did enjoy Abbey and Aljaz's romantic waltz, but, well, who wouldn't? Aljaz choreographed a dance that involved two smoking beauties pressing their faces together in a nearly-snog for ninety seconds (Crouch must be spitting astroturf) whilst their perfectly pert bottoms whirled around a dance floor encased in white spandex. Talk about a showcase...!

But Nat's cha cha cha was to RASPUTIN, so that makes it the best routine of the night, regardless of who's dancing it. (Strictlycad tip: next time you're at karaoke, ensure Rasputin makes at least one appearance – it's AMAZING.) Moreover, Natalie danced it fabulously and then there was Artem's Cossack outfit, complete with nipple-chaffing bolero jacket and those hilarious pantomine boots – that they looked more Muskateer meets pirate is neither here nor there, they must surely join Ian's Red Trousers on the 'Greatest Ever Strictly Costumes' list. Artem was clearly in a great mood – responding to Tess' question “Russia's greatest love machine?” with a comment-less nip flash before collapsing into giggles. Oh Artem, you keep smoking those special cigarettes.

Good thing the jivers weren't in similar state of relaxation – the jive is crazy-tiring. But, for me, it has no place in Week One. Patrick and Susanna both did very well indeed, but I just felt annoyed that I wasn't watching them pull off a truly, truly impressive version a few weeks in, when they have a better sense of what to do with their limbs. The training footage threw up some interesting stuff though – Kevin looks really rather attractive in his horn-rimmed specs (not a fetish I was expecting, nor one I hope sticks around) and I very much appreciated Anya's training technique of encouraging Patrick to indulge in vest-wear and getting him to hoik his shorts up to his Casualties.

But I'm afraid Patrick, for all your rehearsal vest action, ultimately it was Ben Cohen that scored victory in the arm-off.  Benz Gunz Wonz.  Which is good, as Ben's not that great a dancer yet, is he? But I have hope – which is not IN ANY WAY blinded by my serious Cohen crush, oh no – that he will get better and better. A 'journey' if you will (cue QI Klaxon Noise). And I know you'll all agree – because, well, who wouldn't (fancy Ben Cohen)? Exactly.

Ashley pulled out a better cha cha, though he needs to tone down the mince a little, I think. Not that we were allowed to speculate about ATD's sexuality – for we were reminded at least seventeen billion times that he has impregnated a human woman and she is about to give birth at any second. Mind you, I was very pleased to see everyone promoting the notion that 'attending the birth of your child' was more important than 'dancing in a televised dance competition' and that if the contractions started mid-chassé, then it was only right and proper that he should literally stop what he was doing and run to the Batmobile.

But my favourite discussion of progressive values was Julien and Bruno's chat (well 'shout' would be more accurate) about when to be “bent” and when to be “straight” (in dance terms, you understand, so tango and rumba respectively). Bruno clearly forgot he was on national teatime television as he waxed lyrical about the need that “some times it pays to be straight, you know for the money...” before abruptly remembering where he was and cutting it short before he said too much - mere seconds away from an Ofcom fine or a Tom Cruise lawsuit. Julien behaved exactly as those of us who watched him last year on It Takes Two could have predicted: constant yelling and putting the emphasis ON exactly THE WRONG word TO ensure THAT the comic timing FELLLLLLLLLL flat. His cha cha was similar – nearly hilarious, but not quite there, as we watched Julien, and his frozen face of joyful botoxed surprise, attempt to break Janette's neck by shaking her from side to side. In hold. With some voguing.

Clearly no-one dared use Vogue whilst Erin 'don't just stand there let's get to it strike a pose there's nothing to it' Boag was in town, but Janette had the spunk/naivety to just go for it. I can't tell if I'm happy or sad that the Strictly singers didn't attempt the “Greta Garbo and Monroe, Dietrich and di Maggio” rap bit. Mind you it would probably have been more successful than their attempt at View To A Kill – ouch. Especially as Bruce chose that very song to introduce the “wonderful wonderful orchestra”. Fiona did well – I'm a sucker for a scarlet tango dress, but there did seem to be some trademark de Beke plonking-not-teaching; if not as much as in previous years. But mainly Fiona won me over by following me on Twitter (errr, why?! And surely not for long) earlier this week.

The other 'older lady tango' – Deborah with Robin – was also fairly well executed and very well-dressed; a beautiful dragon green dress. Deborah has clearly resolved the feud with Wardrobe since the launch show (she's in, investing in a flesh gusset material manufacturing scheme).

However, the best tango, by a country mile, was Mark and Iveta's jewel thief mini cartoon – so enjoyable and bloody well danced! May the big guys stay in for some time. He was WOEFULLY under-marked.

However, I'm not sold on tangos in week one either – I'm with that group of Strictly purists who think the first dances should be cha cha and waltz. (Though probably they don't think that that's because it's preferable to get all the boring waltzes out of the way whilst the celebs aren't that good at dancing.) And lo, I did find the waltzes snoozesome by and large. Sure Rachel and Sophie looked beautiful, but I have almost no memory of the content or competence, nor any motivation to go back to the iPlayer to find out.

I also don't want to return to the iPlayer and risk stumbling on any more TessDressMess – Saturday's yellow number might have been ok made from a material that didn't give Tess' clearly excellent figure a bumpy spud sack texture, but as it was – sheesh. Sunday was purple belted hot air balloon chic – if that's all the rage on the catwalk, we're in trouble.

I wasn't a fan of the pro-wear either, in their black and white opening Sunday number. Also I couldn't quite work out which pro is partnerless (surely not Artem – that would be INSANE). Probably there'll be some wife swapping going on.

Other than that, on we crack – it's looking most promising indeed, and, bar a likely early exit from Tony, hard to call. Ah yes, to business – I meant to collect my sweepstake money at my birthday partay on Friday, but totally failed, on account of being too busy being the perfect hostess and not because I was to be found on the dancefloor from 9pm, at least one pint of cider sloshing in my hand, ordering my guests to form a giant conga through the pub, the pub's garden, the pub's roof terrace, and, well, it might have then become a reverse conga, but memories are limited. GOOD TIMES.

Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep drinking!