Series 11 – Week 5

Dear me, that were Proper Sad!  We got an actual speech sniffle breakdown from our Robin as Deborah was fired - and with just cause.  It was a real shame and a good few weeks too early.  I found their power struggle Viennese waltz theme rather taking, and preferable to the usual pseudo-romantic mush, but there really was just too much table-faff at the start.  (And not even a Trump-esque ‘LOOK AT MY TESTOSTERONE’ mahogany monstrosity - more a school dining room table ready for a post mushy pea wipedown.)  I don’t even think Robin needed to kill time that way - Deborah was pretty passable in hold.  Poor Bobby does get confused sometimes though, doesn't he?  To him, two ribbons of cotton are a ‘vest’ and 'business' is playing pictionary on a perspex board up the Gherkin.  Bless.  Anyway, sorry Jules – your sweepstake pound was a failed investment.  But mostly, sorry Deborah - the British voting public failed you.

I do think the judges were right to save Patrick though, and not just because he’d hurt his wrist rollerblading - an unfortunate, but hardly surprising injury (we're talking about an activity that gave my sister a full chin beard bruise).  However, his one-handed salsa was as unmemorable as all of his other dances, so I can't see him lasting long, even at full double-fisting strength.  Patrick and Anya just seem to lack any TV oomph - clearly Wardrobe didn't even think him exciting enough to sew up a bespoke sequinned bandage.

Though Wardrobe were perhaps too busy working on the real outfits to pimp up a wrist support.  Indeed, dresscellence (yes, bitches, 'dresscellence') was a real theme this week.  I can’t decide which gown I craved the most really, maybe Abbey’s, no Sophie’s, no Iveta’s, no Fiona’s, no Rachel’s... (Mwahahahahaha I jest - *never* Rachel’s).  And alongside dresscellence was a more unwelcome feature - “messin’ abahht”.  The pros have learned to avoid the faff (and Len’s wrath) in Week 1, but seem to think it’s ok to sneak it into Week 5 instead.  We got cage-faff, guitar-faff, letter-writing-faff, transparent-umbrella-faff, hiding-behind-a-theatre-programme-faff, having-a drink-and-wiping-Anton’s-brow-eww-Beke-sweat-faff...  Len was not amused – his walnuts definitely remained unpickled.

The oddest faff of all was Ben and Kristina’s sofa-and-pillow-fighting-faff.  Look Kristina, I miss the endless Friends repeats on E4 too.  Genuinely.  But you just need to add Comedy Central to your cable package, and you'll be fine.  Moreover, choreographing a quickstep to the Friends theme tune is never going to bring you quite the same joy as Ross and Monica's routine - that's the dance inspiration to seek from that show.  Though I'd have happily seen Ben skip about to any old jaunty pop tune to be honest.  Buttocks like a shelf. 

Indeed it might have been such attributes that saved Ben, who scored the same as Deborah.  Only Rachel and Dave scored worse, but as soon as I saw Karen walking down the stairs with a fruit bowl on her head I KNEW the Hairy Dancers would be fine.  It was a salsa triumph, from the Aldi Carmen Miranda stocking up her supermarket trolley with fruit and Biker, to the ruffle-sleeves, aeroplane spin and maracas-ography.   Plus I’m a total sucker for a conga, even if it is only a two-man.  (Craig, on his reinforced hip-op chair, was probably only fake-furious because he couldn’t join in.)  If they keep trotting out joyful comedy of this eye-watering standard, then I will be on board for quite some time.

It's Rachel who should have gone, I’m afraid - that dance was not good.  And I know things aren't great after a Dance Off week, but that's no excuse to don a scarlet mirkin in the name of telephone votes - no damage limitation is worth that!  I like Rachel, she seems to demonstrate the more positive attributes of human nature and she's properly stunning, but please don’t make her do vamp again.   Her Sexy Face is Pouty Squished Face, and it has something of the toddler on the potty about it (let's hope that acting coach is happy to offer refunds).  The paso itself was no better, sadly - it seemed to consist of Rachel angrily doing Heads, Shoulders, Knees and Toes, before Pasha grabbed her and made her headbang in hold.  To be honest I can't actually believe the public saved this over Deborah and Patrick, but such is the power of The Pash.  No-one is immune to wanting another week of Kovalev.  I know I’m not.

Speaking of Russians and swooning, I wonder how many hours and promised favours it took the production staff to get Artem to shake his maracas in a Mexican hat and Spanish flag poncho on camera?  That must have been one tough negotiation - I predict he gets the ringer for series 12-15 AT LEAST.  Apparently, the Chigvintsev samba was a Strictly first and I can see why they’ve tried to resist it appearing on a family show to date - talk about pelvic!  Ofcom will sooooo be getting letters.  At least they tried to sex it down by sticking Artem in polyester slacks and a Travelodge waistcoat.  As for our celeb, well Natalie was typically and joyfully excellent.  Her dreaded samba was so good it made Len fart.

Speaking of farts...  No, I have nowhere to go with that one.

Let’s move on to Ashley then, who squeezed 30 hours of training into ten.  Was this because he was at home caring for his new-born and other child?  No.  It was because he had vital self-promotion to do, like going on Lorraine and 'doing radio interviews'.  Pfffff.  (Can you tell I’m not warming to ATD?)  I do quite enjoy a rock’n’roll jive, and Ashley’s a perfectly competent dancer, but Ola Jordan needs a more charismatic cheeky charmer to bring out her comedy genius and ATD is stifling her.  At least he let them bouffe his quiff.

Aljaz, on the other hand, had unappealingly flat hair this week - though the grease pot only makes a teeny dent in his insane handsomeness.  Sometimes I wonder if we should all don sunglasses when he and Abbey appear, such is the power of their combined beauty - it's the kind of thing that can inadvertently start a terrifying sex cult.  I thought it was unfortunate that the pre-dance VT focused on Abbey's nerves, as it made me notice just how terrified she looked throughout her foxtrot.  But the judges saw more than this mere amateur, raving about her performance at length.  

I preferred Susanna’s American Smooth personally, which was as lovely as you’d expect, if a mite too yellow.  I mean, how many Big Birds had to die to make her skirt?

It was actually Mark who trotted out my favourite ballroom of the night - a charming (faff-free) waltz to a three-four cover of Apologize, with added synth – I would not be averse to more R’n’B being presented in this way.  The more I see of Iveta, the more I rate her.  I even enjoyed the ‘Finishing School’ ‘lesson’ she ‘organised’ for Mark where his 'upper-class' ‘teacher’ ‘Lady’ Henrietta was wearing tartan tights and platform sandals - I'm accordingly dubious about her aristocratic credentials.  Mind you, it is a feature of the very very posh that they can wear absolute gubbins, provided it’s made by an approved fusty label*, so maybe my suspensions should be allayed.

I’m sure Fiona Fullerton could have provided just as good a lesson in saying ‘heow neow breown ceow’ in a cut glass voice.  Fiona must have felt vulnerable after a few weeks knocking around the lower end of the leaderboard, so it was time to wheel out the Bond endorsement - not that Moore, Roger Moore is quite the attraction he once was in a Jacuzzi.  (I sense he’d have trouble rocking the Daniel Craig budgie smuggler.)  But Fiona done good on the dancefloor and made it through her quickstep without much de Beke shunt and drag.  She was rewarded with 8’s - not a paddle Anton’s used to seeing. But let’s not dwell on paddles that Anton is used to seeing, eh?

Indeed, let’s move swiftly on to Sophie and an apparent chink in her hipster armour – turns out the cha cha does not lend itself quite so well to cool natural elegance, sadly.  She is still SO PREEETY though and adorably cool.  No wonder Brendan is embracing the show with such gusto this year.  He’s also embracing the eighties, I note – yet another Miami Vice blazer with the sleeves pushed up.

Actually, the pro-dancer costume budget for the week probably all went on the geisha mini-dresses and white tights our ladies wore on Sunday night, leaving limited funds for the guys; I'm sure I've seen the red wrap tops they wore in Dorothy Perkins.  (My working theory is that Dottie P’s didn’t manage to sell off all the plus-sizes, so Wardrobe got a bulk deal.)  Beyond that, I’m not sure what the dance was about, perhaps Japanese Jets and Sharks (fans v parasols), but it had some cracking lifts in there and a weird jerky quality that I truly enjoyed.  I even coped with Anton’s exposed chest.

No exposed chests from Tess, but sadly not quite enough bra hoiking either.  However, it’s Claude who gets the honourable #messdress mention, in her vicar’s collar meets leather armchair furnishings meets Percy Pig meets tent dress.  As awful as it was, ultimately, when you are as brilliant as Claudia Winkleman, who actually cares?  Best just to move on and get down to some Earth, Wind and Fire - or Soil, Breeze and Damp Squib as Mr Cad called them.  It’s true that they don’t quite have the lung capacity they used to, but at least we know the tunes well enough to imagine the original studio recordings, and they were quite happy to let the pros dance to their hits, which always gets extra points from me.

And there we have it.  I’m still sad about Deborah to be honest.  But it's ok, as we have Halloween Week to look forward to (SARCASM ALERT).  Time to shoehorn some scary into songs and dances that have no connection to anything remotely eerie or frightening.  Let the fake neon eyelashes adorn our dancers' eyes and let the baldies be bewigged in cobwebs!  It's time for Make-Up to go ker-azy.  Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep it spooky.