Series 11 – Week 11

Bye bye Ashley and Ola - FOREVER, if the tabloids are to be believed. (They're not.  It's just a brief return to strop-gate and stirring, based on Ola's recent bust-up with "Katherine Hauer" as the article calls her - mwahaha!  Way to go, Metro, such excellent fact-checking really helps the validity of a story, I find.)  ATD and OCJ (Ola "chops" Jordan) weren't the worst, but they weren't the best and so probably should have stayed, but I can't say I'm sad, as I never really warmed to ATD.   Sure, it might be annoying to get the same score for five weeks (for quickstep, paso, waltz, rumba *and* salsa), but the Great British Public never reward petty ungraciousness or furious ambition, even if you do employ some actual bongos and a jump/lift which is a swift pelvic to the ladyface.  Also, and this is key: you can't dance to Conga and NOT DO A CONGA.

Strictlycad's Conga Tangent

This year I have successfully ordered two congas (Conga #1: birthday. Conga #2: office Christmas party.)  I've learned the key is to wait until a dance circle is fairly well established, then point at the nearest merry (ideally male) dancing friend and simply shout “CONGA!”.  The effect is instantaneous and infectious.  Props, especially, to Steve who headed my birthday conga, which was EPIC.  Not only did we conga through the bar, but he led us out into the beer garden, before arriving at some steps to well, at this point, it’s hazy.  My sober friend Rob reported the following: “As we arrived on the upper level we upset a group of hipsters who thought they’d secured that area for themselves. One particularly obnoxious head-girl type was heard to say “Oh my god! Other people have found this place!” in a voice that indicated that she wasn’t used to sharing. This pleased me greatly.  We conga-d on in the belief that the stairs on the opposite side would take us back down but they actually led to a fire pit populated by other hipsters at which point the conga halted. Someone at the front broke loose and tried to push open a door that was clearly a fire exit from a different building. They were unsuccessful and the u-turn was called which put me second from the front.”  Apparently there was then a brief attempt at a reverse conga.  All in all: incredible. [Here endeth the tangent.]

Anyway, sorry to Beth, but she won the sweepstake last year, so we can't be too sad on her behalf, right?  

Also incredible – someone throwing out a ten for a male rumba.  Was Darcey insane?  Well, OBVIOUSLY.  But you have to respect a prima ballerina that doesn't give a shit about the conventions of scoring and just waves whichever paddle she fancies.  (This was her happiest time of the night, I think - she was RAGING during the swingathon.  I'm fairly sure she punched Len at the end of it.)  As for Patrick and Anya, well, in spite of Len's attack of the grumps ("STEPPING FORWARD = CARDINAL SIN") they made it through a he-rumba.  Yes, it was a typical awk-fest of hideous chiffon-based sequin detail and weirdly placed man hands on hip-bones whilst slow-thrusting, but we just have to accept  it – that's the dance.

Shall I tell you what’s NOT the dance?  A Michael Jackson impression in Argentine Tango form.  UNACCEPTABLE.  I can’t believe we lost Vinthent to the jungle for this.  This was a serious lucky escape for Susanna and Kevin – I’ve yet to find anyone who rated it, so their vote must be 100% goodwill, based on their loveliness.   I have no idea who foisted that bullshit on to us, but I hope they dwell long and hard on what they did and find a sword to fall on.  (Or at least decide to NEVER DO IT AGAIN.)  As for Kev’n’Sus, the only way is up.  Which is a track I would like to see Susanna dance to – BUT NOT AN ARGENTINE TANGO.

I thought Delilah would be as equally terrible for a Viennese Waltz, but, in fact, it totally worked, not least as Abbey and Aljaz danced it beautifully.  Strictement Maman loves this song – she emailed me immediately after with the following message: 

“Deliliah!...............I.....I Xx 

Sent from my iPad”

This says it all I think.  Not that I’m bitter about baby boomers and their FLIPPING IPADS.  I’m typing this on a TOSHIBA, people.  Hurrrumph.

Strictement Maman will also have appreciated Natalie and Artem’s trad paso music.  The rest of us appreciated Artem’s inflatable upside-down man cleavage, but.... well, I do feel a little sorry for Natalie sometimes.  I mean there’s hard task master and then there’s Chigvintsev.  (BTW, I always want to type Chigwell-vintsev, which then makes me briefly wonder how he’d cope in Birds of A Feather...  Artem could be Sharon's dance teacher, perhaps?  You're all thinking about that now, aren't you?  Either way, Dorien would devour him and it would be TERRIFYING.  Fingers crossed for the ITV reboot!)  Anyway, this week, Artem took Natalie out for a lovely flamenco night, but *ENEMY OF FUN ALERT* treated it as nothing but homework, grilling her with notes and forcing her to dance flamenco in public, next to a trained professional, before kindly pissing himself at her not-at-all-terrible attempt.  Give the girl a break, Artie – GB already hates her for being fantastic!  Moreover, I don't think that pressure is helping, as I tend to agree with Craig - it’s Natalie’s polish that’s the problem; she hasn't ever just let go and risked imperfection in the name of passion or laffs.  If Natalie Lowe managed it, dancing like a dream OBVZ, but dropping the focus to giggle at Michael V's wonderfully woeful jive, then Natalie Gumede can have a moment too.

Perhaps she's just too nervous of Artem's terminator stare.  For my part, I was terrified of Artem's criss cross corset trousers.  Even Simon Cowell has never pulled his waistband so high, let alone garnished his flares with a gold leaf wallpaper frieze and the tinsel aisle in the local pound shop. 

Next to the pound shop trews, a tango from Sophie and Brendan set “in one of those mobile phone kiosks on Rye Lane”, well, so quoth Mr Cad.  It wasn't to my taste, because I like a fiery macho tango of pretentious pompous proportions (oooh, bar that Priscilla one Doner Van did with Kristina).  I do think Sophie is LOVELY, but I'm still not sold on her dancing.  But her Something About Mary hair was excellent – as was her acting, though it's hard to tell if someone pulling off 'mannequin' effectively is actually highly talented or just... well, wooden.

As for the Swingathon – that was the usual disappointment.  No teeth knocked out, no hair extensions flying, no broken bones – what’s the point?  There was one moment of hilarious high drama, when Mr Cad and I were convinced that Susanna shouted “OHHHH FUCK!” when she was kicked off, but it was probably the far more boring and broadcastable: “ohhhh not us” or “ohhhhh come on”.  (Still, I urge you to go back and check – see what you think...)  The trouble with the swingathon is that you can't see anything really – just as you focus on one couple, the camera pans away to another hot mess of lacey underskirt and limbs in pumps.  Was the swingathon a total fix designed to bolster Patrick and Natalie, who – so the rumour goes – are not beloved of the public?  Probably.  Certainly the Digital Spy Forum is about to explode with conspiracy-based rage.  Do I care?  No, not really.  The judges' scoring is always based on infuriating utter randomness and bizarre lunacy, so why is this any different?

Speaking of bizarre lunacy, let's check in with Tessdressmess.  And good news, people!  OK, Saturday’s mullet prom dress wasn’t my favourite, but let's chalk it down as a relative Tesstessdresssuccess, for the Daly boobs were happily supported.  And Sunday made two from two – I liked the red office dress come sexy scarlet evening gown very much, *and* the well-hoiked bra was still in place.  As for Claude.... oh well.  She's still awesome.  I particularly enjoyed her revelation about her affair in Rome with Terms and Conditions.  Amazing surreal work.  Bruce who?  No seriously, I totally forgot he even existed.

And I think that’s it, really, bar a quick trip through the Sunday extras – we’ll gloss over the Saturdays' 'singing', as they opted to go pro-less and bring their own dance staff (BOOOO!).  Though at least Darcey was having a boogie at her desk - clearly her mood had improved.  (Maybe a half time tipple was involved?)  The pro dance we did get was The Aliona Show, but – you know what – it was fair enough.  Everyone else is getting a show-off turn at the front, so why shouldn’t Aliona?  The real surprise wasn’t that I coped with an Aliona dance, but that Anton did!  He really didn't look too awful on stage this time, even during the ‘contemporary’ stuff.  Perhaps I was distracted by the two supply man-cers.  Who were they?!  I demand a special feature from It Takes Two, explaining their identity and their particularly sheeny faces.

And that’s it I think – semi final ahoy.  The end is very nearly in sight and, what with Borgen leaving our screens too, I’m starting to panic about what my Saturday nights are going to look like. I suppose I might have to see friends or talk to Mr Cad.  (Imagine!?)  Next week is two dance time, which is always ‘interesting’.  Though at least there hasn’t been any talk of dance fusion, has there?  I’m not sure I could cope with another samba-rumba, or whatever bizarre concoction we saw last time.  I’m hoping for one ballroom and one latin, but I’ll be mourning the fact that the Argentine Tango has been pre-ejaculated all over our screens in some cases.  Right then, on that unseemly note, it’s time to stop.  Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep it clean, eh?