Series 11 – Week 4

T'rah Julien – it was always going to be thus.  In many ways it will be a relief not to have to stare at Julien’s terrifying grin and his immovable eyebrows, whilst wondering when the coke high is going to fade and he’s just going to stop dead and topple over, like a clockwork toy (possibly, allegedly, don’t-sue-me-ly, like-you’re-going-to-read-this-ly).  But, on some level, I will miss the constant refusal to use an ‘indoor voice’ and his OTT enthusiasm for the Strictly wardrobe.  At least he left in the finest creation to date: a special mix of electric blue/purple chiffon and sequins, with a giant shoulder broach made by an overexcited five year old with badly supervised access to the sewing box, a Christmas cracker and some Pritt stick.  Sorry sis - it's Isabelle who loses her £1 this week.

However, I hope this isn't the last we see of Jeanette ¡Manrara! who looked resplendent during their salsa in a bikini dress made of Poundshop streamers – how many party poppers do you think they had to set off to make that one?   She also looked utterly illegal in a red jumpsuit during her show-rumba with Artem - I believe the dance term is ‘tutti fruity what a booty.’  At least it’s answered that timeless question: ‘who on earth looks acceptable in a jumpsuit?’.  The answer: teeny professional latin lady dancers.  I wonder how much her boyfriend Hot Aljaz enjoyed that performance...

Controversially, I’d have used my Fantasy Judge Vote to save Julien over Rachel in the dance off.  It was basically 'WTF hot mess' versus 'WTAF hot mess', and it was Julien's hot mess which I ‘preferred’.  The problem with Pasha and Rachel’s quickstep was that I didn't have a clue what was happening at any point of the process.  I mean, there was a giant metallic contraption (were they on a submarine?) and Rachel was dressed as... well, she was wearing an air hostess' hat, a stripper's waistcoat and posh gentleman's mustard trousers, so you tell me.  In any case, she looked terrible.  I didn't think Wardrobe would ever find someone they hated more than Holly Valance, but this might be it.

On the subject of looking terrible, oh Tess – you were doing so well, but Sunday’s white mini-dress was a lumpy return to #messdress and then some.  From what I can garner, Wardrobe just stuck some sequins on a tablecloth (or maybe that five year old did it) and then wrapped it around Tess and stapled on some saggy white chiffon - I’m not even sure how it’s possible for chiffon to sag, but la Daly managed it.  Mr Cad articulated the problem perfectly during Sunday’s goodbye section: "Tess has several inches on Claudia, but their chests are in the same place." EXACTLY. EXACTLY!  Saturday was mildly better, but still saw Tess continue her trend of using bits of old tights to customise her dresses - with lacy black tights, not worn since the eighties, stretched over the arms.  On the plus side, Tess did have excellent bedhead and total fox face throughout Saturday's show.  

Also rocking fox face: Darcey. I don't usually comment on (bitch about) Darcey, as she looks nice as standard, but it’s worth saying that this Saturday, la Bussell looked AMAZING. Girl crush level amazing.  

Sophie Ellis-Bextor also looked gorgeous, but that comes as no surprise.  More surprising: she made me want to try the foxtrot (unprecedented).  It’s her effortless über-cool that does it, I think - although I'm slightly nervous as to where the copycatting might end.  Foxtrot is bad enough, so let us vow right now not to all have matching heart arm tattoos by the end of the series, eh? (Together we can be strong.)  I’m starting to peg Sophie as a real contender for the trophy - the terrible moves in the Murder On The Dance Floor video (and indeed pun references to it) are well behind us.

Obviously, Natalie remains the main contender, but – and this sounds awful – I was ever so slightly bored by her brilliant competence in the quickstep this week.  (Only very very very very very slightly, mind.)  But it was still HIGHLY EXCELLENT, in spite of the gurning and the horrific wafty culottes.  I mean, it had caneography!  It had spat dance shoes!  And it had a topiary mohican!  (For if you are going to tether Natalie’s incredible giant hair, this is the only acceptable way I've seen to date.)

At the other end of the scale - dance-wise, not hair-wise - was Fiona.   Mind you, she should be given extra points for having to stomach rumba-ing with Anton (dear God, ‘Anton’ + ‘rumba’, words I can barely combine without retching).  Sadly, there was another end-of-dance crash for Fiona, but, given the circumstances (coping with Anton's latin sex face) it’s not surprising.  I'm not sure World Of Our Own was the best musical framework for a raunchy rumba, but it was ultimately for the best, given how it kept the steam down.  At least the danger of an Anton rumba is over for another year, eh?  And although we might still have to face a samba, we can take solace that there could be some excellent trouser potential on that front.  (Ewwww, that sentence did not read how I meant it to read.)

For his samba with Susanna, Kevin From Grimsby wore some safari linens – but the REAL costume news is that he finally bowed to external pressure (again, a sentence that does not read as I meant it to read) and kept his spexy specs on - well, an elastic band kept them on, as he pretended to be a bespectacled Indiana Jones rescuing Susanna, dressed as 'Sexy Pocahontas'.  (I can only deduce that he was saving her so they could go to Britain's most randomly themed fancy dress party.)  The Wonderful Wonderful Orchestra's Shakira cover was special too – I don’t think they had the budget to wheel in some actual panpipes, so had to opt for the ‘Panflute 1’ setting on the Dave Arch synthesizer.  Sure the dance was a bit messy, but I would never criticise anyone for giving it their all to Whenever Wherever - we’ve all been there.  I even have vague notions of requesting it several times at a friend’s wedding and getting my way, before going mental flamenco on the dance floor.  Please note: this is not behaviour I could possibly sanction or recommend.

Perhaps Robin and Deborah were also on their way to the same fancy dress party as Kev and Suse, ostensibly as 50% of Buck’s Fizz, though Robin’s wig was clearly Vinthent’s Scooby Doo hairpiece, re-dyed.  Strictly and Eurovision are basically two of my greatest loves, so this should have been right up my street, but... it fell flat for me, sadly.  It didn’t help that Deborah was jiving in orthopaedic sandals and the mini-skirt reveal turned out to be a space-age silver tube skirt (even Jeanette ¡Manrara! might struggle with that look).  No, the real issue was probably the choice of song.  When you look at the Eurovision back catalogue (and I would urge the bravest of you to very much do so), Making Your Mind Up, whilst fine, is actually not the performance from which to seek inspiration.  Not when you have THIS.  Or THIS. Or THIS!!!!!!! etc etc etc.

Actually, the fancy dress performance of the night – indeed, the performance full stop of the night - was Iveta and Mark's hip hop cha cha.  DEAR GOD I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ON THIS.  Firstly, we must admire the majesty of Iveta Supersharpshooter training in a leopard print catsuit WITH MATCHING LEOPARD PRINT TRAINER SOCKS. AND THEN!!!  IN A TIGER PRINT CATSUIT POSSIBLY WITH MATCHING SOCKS WHO KNOWS THERE IS NOT ENOUGH CAPSLOCK IN THE WORLD.  In short, animal-print-tastic.  

I bloody love Iveta - or rather I bloody loff Iveta – she’s just brilliant.  Take her accent, for example, best described as 'sexy evil villain of indeterminate Eastern European extraction’: “Marky Boi, I'ff got you some accessories.”  And she's playing this with a choreographic expertise that rivals James Jordan’s.  Their cha cha was perfectly pitched after last week’s more serious attempt and went right back to Mark’s strength – theatrical comedy.  Obviously it's a given that any dance in any context (stage, club, shower, bus stop) to U Can't Touch This will be an utter triumph, but it was the details that marked out their cha cha: Mark in a vicar's collar sprayed with gold lamé effect; Iveta’s hair fashioned into a severe Vilnius facelift; the choreography, which was a clever mix of comedy hip hop sections with Mark at the forefront and cha cha sections with Iveta at the forefront, all culminating in a slow motion leg extension to make your eyes pop.   Like Darcey, I loved it.

Even better though, was the ensuing scoring sequence, as Craig's 3 was followed by Darcey’s incredulity and a defiant "8!", matched by Len also showing 8, with Bruno falling off his chair in faux camp disbelief, before rapping out his own "s-s-s-7".  HELL. YEP.  Mr Cad and I have watched it at least eight times and I’m still crying tears of actual laughter.

Elsewhere, Dave and Karen toned down the comedy this week, but I still very much enjoyed their super cute waltz.  Dave is just totes adorbs, really, and that’s all there is to it.  Karen looked smokin’ - she is clearly loving her partnership.

For her part, Abbey also looked smokin’, but there was a bit too much smoke if you ask me – what was going on with her eye make-up (again)?  There’s smokey eyes and there’s looking possessed.  I didn’t really like her Kate Bush billowing sleeves for a tango either, and really, although the judges found it AY-MAY-ZING (as Tess pronounced it), I was slightly 'meh' about it all.  Probably it needed Florence herself to belt out Spectrum.  Oh HELLO – there’s a new one for my ‘Future Celebs Wot Should Do Strictly’ list.

The judges were also keener on Patrick’s cha cha than I was.  I thought it was nearly really good, but Patrick and Anya are still suffering from being competent, yet not particularly exciting and memorable, even if Anya does train in her pants.  Though Anya did take my advice (yeah, course she did) and the Casualty arm muscles came out - short satin sleeves ahoy.

Sadly, however, there were only really room for one set of guns on Saturday - and that would be Ben 'swoon ad infinitum' Cohen.  I understand that there was some salsa going on, but, in truth, I spent the whole thing with slightly dewy eyes endlessly repeating 'my God he's so hot' like a dribbling idiot.  Yes, there was a bit of car faff, but THAT VEST...  I mean, THOSE LIFTS! Spinning Kristina like she was nothing.  If Ben doesn’t have to dance, he will go far indeed.

Ben might even be real competition for the main male contender: Ashley Taylor Dawson.  I’m struggling to warm to ATD, somehow.  I found his Viennese waltz with Ola rather mincey - though 'wafty' seems to be the technical term, if the judges can be trusted on such things.  Ahem.  We also discovered that Bruce has an aversion to a waistcoat without a jacket – like the opposite of socks and sandals.  It's actually a rule I'm happy to support, especially if your waistcoat is made of white satin.  That was preeeeeeety rank. 

Are we nearly there yet?  I think we are!  I’ll leave the comment about Sunday night's child's lock burlesque pro-dance to Mr Cad: "Kristina in that giant cocktail glass is basically playing the part of a bubble.  It's like being third tree from the left in the nativity.”  Indeed.  We also saw Natbot cameo as a newsreader, presenting the headline story: “Who stole the glitterball?” (Aliona, clearly), as well as the graphic department having a right laugh during the judges voting - never will I tire of seeing two glitter balls perfectly aligned with a lady dancer's boobies.  Yes, it’s lowest common denominator immature.... and?  In fact, on that note, I’m off to watch Bruno fall off his chair as the judges discuss the tightness of their respective bum cheeks.  Classic stuff.  Until next week, peeps... Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep clenching!