Series 12 - 2014 Show and Pro Preview

Out

So it's SEE YA wouldn't wanna BE YA to James Jordan's receding hairline. It's sort of sad to see James go, as I'd picked him out to be my panto Vilani this year, but there's solace in the thought that his Twitter feed will be an amazing source of genuinely bitchy petulance.  He's already started throwing all of his dance toys out of the dance pram.  I imagine it will make Arlene's post-firing marathon tantrum of RTing praise about herself seem like a mild gripe. Prepare for an onslaught of James Jordan fans throwing grammatically dubious versions of 'your' in our Twitter faces.

It's au revoir to Artem's inflatable man pecs too: 'visa problems' (got a job in Merica, innit). It's sad to see Strictly's facially-blessed 3D manchesticals disappear, but we've still got the beauty in Aljaz and the steroid-ed nipple action in Robin, so we can continue to objectify men enjoy the main male aesthetics of Saturday night ballroom dancing prime time. And let's not forget Kevin From Grimsby's glasses.

In

Another From Grimsby no less – Kevin's sister Joanne. (*screams of nepotism!!!!* Oh yes, most morally unsound for Strictly to hire the reigning Ballroom World Champion.)  It's sad that Bruce is leaving just as a name he won't mangle arrives on the scene (NB: IT IS NEVER A SHAME THAT BRUCE IS LEAVING).

Actually, Bruce might well have coped with the name "Tristan McManus", who is newbie #2 and the Man Newbie.  Tristan is Oirish, which is technically foreign, but something tells me the Daily Mail won't be so quick to churn out another 'oooh, they're all foreign dancers on Strictly oooh Britain is DOOMED oooh foreign urgh here's a picture of (foreign) Ola in her pants oooh urgh baaddd' article this time.  Anyway, Tristan seems not-unpretty (which is all we have to judge on, OK?)

Oh and yes – goodbye to Bruce Forsyth. I'll admit that you weren't a terrible captain of HMS Strictly in the early days, but you should probably have walked the plank a little sooner - METAPHORICALLY I MEAN.  I genuinely wish Brucie a happy, relaxing, golf, private tap-dancing and joy-filled retirement - away from our screens.

Back

Natbot Lowe – her leg has been mechanically repaired and my Nats-based hatred has been completely deprogrammed, so I'm cautiously excited about her return.  But let's see whether her NAKED AMBITION chip has been fully disabled, as there's always the risk that the Winning-Versus-Appearing-Lovely settings might get overridden once Natbot starts her necklashwhipping ballroom head spins going- it takes a sturdy fembot control board to survive that kind of pressure.

Teflon Aliona has somehow wiggled her way back into the full time list too. HAHAHA – I'm so impressed by her staying power that maybe I don't even dislike her anymore. (Of course I do.  HELLO OBVZ.)

!!! I've just realised that I completely forgot to add Anya Garnis to the Out list. I think that says it all, sadly. You remember Anya... Partnered Patrick... Did a Chitty Bang Bang number... Looked about fifty on It Takes Two and about twenty years younger on the show... Yes, her!  Sorry Anya.  Am sure Hayley Holt will have some words of comfort for you.  You remember Hayley Holt... Clad Mark Foster's giant chest in mesh material... Um... Um.

Last year's survivors - the women

Hooray for the return of Ivetamazebombz and ¡Janette! ¡Manrara! who I like, even if I am ON MY OWN.  Yes, ¡Janette! is probably back because Hot Aljaž is her boyf, but she dealt with Julien Macdonald last year - and for more than one week. AND she didn't get to go to Florida as compensation.  The BBC totally owe her.

Ola's back too - and Jamesless no less.  Whilst her mortal enemy Karen Hauer will be surrounded by her fiancé-from-Grimsby and her sister-in-law-to-be-from-Grimsby, so Ola had better be on her best behaviour (without James to wind the world up, I'm sure she'll be fine.  Let's not forget the Chris Hollins Lovely Olachops year, eh?).  It's a KEY year for Karen, in my mind. Year 1 was boring Nicky Beigelife. Year 2 was comedy fruitbowl hat Dave Hairybiker. Year 3 will probably seal her TV personality in my mind for at least a decade to come regardless of how she acts in the future. So it's all to play for!

And then there's Poor Kristina Rihanoff.  Oh Poor Lovely Kristina. :-( She's going to get the dud this year, isn't she? And not the 'oh so nice and handsome shame he can't dance' dud, but the real actual 'he's in his sixties, no-one female or gay has really heard of him and he's only doing the show which he's never watched because his agent talked him into it ah well you'll only have to perform in the first week anyway' dud. Hang on in there Rihanoff! You might get to thigh clamp in 2015!

Last year's survivors - the men

Aljaž Skorjanec – so preeeety

Pasha Kovalev – so lovely

Kevin Clifton – so spexy

Robin Windsor – so peccxy

Brendan Cole – so old

Anton du Beke – so very, very old, but at least he's not presenting. PHEW.

Still no...

Katya – BOO. SHAME ON YOU, STRICTLY. SHAME ON YOU.

Hoping for an It Takes Two slot

Ian surely? Unless he's run out of especially long and especially tight trousers.

Erin? She's got a baby these days, so is probably quite delighted not to having to nurse Anton busy. But hopefully she'll pop by with baby in tow for some televisual Ball and Boag squealing.

In charge

And the whole thing will be womanned by TessDressMess and Claudia – YAY TO THAT!

But first, Summer.  So enjoy the three days of sun and the rain on the Bank Holiday Weekend, people.  It will be darker evenings, the lurgy going round and not having to shave your legs every bloody day before we know it. Hooray! 

In the meantime, keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep your money safe – for the sweepstake beckons...

Series 11 - The Final

And so the trophy goes to… well, the wrong winner, I think.  (Sorry Abbey!)  I was always Team Natalie, and that was even before she pulled out the American Smooth to out-do any other: all intense craze-eye, mascara down the face emotional, dance-gurning to the very core of her dance-pain.  She went to the very edge of her everything and ended up "TOUCHING THE DIVINE" (this may have been Artem, but it wasn't entirely clear).  Anyway, after that, like an alien invasion brainwash wave across the UK, the Great British Public suddenly accepted that there was no right choice beyond Natalie Domination, but…. well, it was too late to get enough phone action in (I'd already used my five free interweb votes, so…).  Look, I don't think Abbey was a terrible winner (I mean, I didn't hit the rage-level I did when Tom Chambers beat out Beige Rachel), but it did feel like a bit of an unfair anti-climax. 

£15: As for the sweepstake, happier times - well done to one of my original stakees, Vicki, who beat out her dad Terry, as well as Holly and Justine, to win the pot.  KER, and indeed, CHING.

And let's continue to focus on the positive - congrats to brave Aljaz, so very very hot, I mean, talented, and surely destined to return again next year to dance with another lithe young thing (sure it's Robin's turn, but he's hag til he dies, I'm afraid).  It should have been clear where the female phone votes were going to go the instant Aljaz appeared in the male-pro finalists showcase during the opening Scarlet Frenzy pro number.  He was beaming and latin-ing, the first to show off his wafty arms and jelly legs, before Brooding Artem, If-we-must Brendan and Energetic Kev.  That first pro dance was a total corker - especially after a season of less-than-memorable perfs.  And wardrobe outdid themselves with the four finalists' red dresses.  Christmas was RUINED when none of them appeared in my stocking.

Let's crack on, shall we? Ding ding ding, round one!

Judges' choice: Some good choices, actually - either very early dances late joiners were unlikely to have seen or a dance they royally messed up first time (SUSANNA).  Also, inexplicably, Sophie's Sound of Music Viennese Waltz, which was total meh, as far as I was concerned.  Perhaps, like me, the judges were hoping for ACTUAL KITTENS this time, in which case: thwarted. 

Natalie's Cha-cha-chasputin was a more welcome return - cue Artem's bootaloons and Colgate smile.  It was still a little too controlled and the choreography felt very Week 1 (maybe they weren't allowed to pimp it up for the final), but the song remained an earwormtastic delight.

On the subject of super-cheese, it was good to see Susanna nail her Quickstep Take Two - I was shouting her on from my living room, as she edited out last time's mistakes, didn't kick Kevin in the shins, and tumbled over the sofa successfully.

But Abbey's waltz was probably the most accomplished of the four repeat dances (helped by being in hold).  It was a vision in white; lovely and dreamy (in all senses, including a slight snoozeiness).  Possibly, this was wot won it for her.  That and Aljaz in those white trousers.

Anyway, those were ones they'd done earlier…  There's only one way to separate the Colin Jacksons from the Tom Chamberses (GRRRRR).  It's show(dance)time!

Showdances: Four dances, three disappointments, so not the worst ratio, given the historical stats.

It was Natalie who pulled it out the bag, with a BRILLIANT best of.  I was extremely worried when it looked like there was a pole-dancing session planned (yay! feminism!), but even that was fine in the end - as Darcey put it, she enjoyed them "using a structure to enhance the dance effect".  (So that's what ballerinas call previous work experience at Stringfellows, said Mr Cad.)  At first I wondered if Natalie had overly slippy shoes, as she looked a bit tentative, but fairly quickly she remembered this was probably her last dance and the UTTER INJUSTICE drove her on to, well, the best showdance I can remember - and certainly the best one which includes tap-dancing (in your FACE Chambers).  My one criticism is her gold washing up gloves and (oh, apparently I have two criticisms) having Artem unnecessarily dressed.  I mean, having Artem unnecessarily dressed as The Mask.  Not sure why I trailed off there...

Susanna and Kevin's showdance was basically 60% neck spin, 30% smoke machine and 10% faux-verblown intensity.  But it was 100% worth it to hear Darcey throw in a total clanger of a slate: "no wow-factor".  My GOD, Susanna's face!  Fuming beneath the ever professional daytime smile.  La Bussell can kiss goodbye to any Daybreak-based promotion (once ITV win the inevitable bidding war).

There was even more smoke machine use in Abbey's tango doble - but not quite enough bite (though it was hard to judge, given that it was mostly obscured by the dry ice action). I'm impressed that Aljaz didn't come out with massive weld marks on his face from where Abbey repeatedly smacked him with her paso plait.  The Arse Appreciation thread might have moved on to his stomach by now - for the record, yes it was taut, but it takes A LOT to overlook the vulgarity of a criss-cross tummy girdle and Eurotrash leather waistcoat with sequin stud detail.  I'm not sure even Aljaz…  Then again… Tough call.

Speaking of eighties throwbacks, oh Brenda(n) - was a latin-inspired dance *really* the best call?  At least Sophie looked like she has having a blast.  Frankly, she should have just done another charleston - no-one would have had a problem with double Gatsby.  I mean, apart from anything else, it's the one acceptable context in which a woman can wear a gold playsuit. 

Indeed, speaking of…  It was time to hunt around on the iPlayer to see what we could watch instead of Atlantis.  And then...

DRAMATIC ANNOUNCEMENT TIME.

I'll be honest, I was fully expecting Natalie to go and was primed to to scream HUMBUG TRAVESTY all over the internet.  But no!  For Sophie and Brendan's names were called.  In the end, although Sophie probably was the weakest dancer of the four on the night, I just felt a bit deflated that she'd donned her bob wig and spangle pants for nuttin'.  I think it's only fair for me to direct you here.  There'll be very few dances from this series I'll rewatch, but that charleston will be one of them.  (The others will mainly be Dave in satin.)

Couple's favourite: I thoroughly enjoyed the campfest that was Kevin and Susanna's Blackpool paso, but it lost some attack in the studio, I think (also, Kev should have totes got his nips out for the final).  Abbey and Aljaz's quickstep was as messy as the first time, with enough gapping to warrant a tube warning.  It was a bizarre choice, but, given the end result, whaddaIknow?

I know nothing, really, as I actually thought Natalie and Artem's decision to do their Dreamgirls American Smooth was a bit of a dud one - well, how wrong was I?  (Very.)  My excuse is that I'd been gunning for their long lost Tina Turner jive, but no regrets, other than Natalie cranking up the proper realz emotion about twelve dances too late. I could gush on a whole lot, but let's just leave it at this: it was such a good dance it made Artem cry.  CRY.  Amazeballs.

Tessdressmess: Also amazeballs: double TessTess DressDress YesYes!  From Aztec snowflake bodice to black cocktail origami - rather fetching and BOOBS IN PLACE.  A Christmas miracle.  It's been a rocky road, but we ended in a good place.  Well done TessTess - I'm looking forward to a range of mess and success next year.  It wouldn't be the same if I couldn't get angry about your wardrobe and mammary placement.

Celeb Final Group Dance: Another tradition which tends to me a hot mess - so imagine my surprise when we got one which was actually really good.  The key was mainly not making the ones-that-couldn't-dance dance.  Tony had to putt; Vanessa had to stand on a desk (particular bravos for a knicks-free camera angle); Julien had to strut (reigning it in, very very well, especially with all the shiny lights which could have, um, distracted him); Deborah (who could dance) got wheeled in on her dragon chair; Rachel expertly manipulated her Countdown board (disappointingly only spelling 'STRICTLY' rather than, say, 'CRAIG IS A BELLEND') and Dave got to bounce on a motor bike (disappointing too - why not wheel him in on a fruit trolley, EH?).  

Then the ok dancers got a look in - Fiona, who, for me, hilariously stole the show by looking tipsy and waving a plastic Sainsbury's Basic empty cocktail glass; Ben chucking around Kristina and a rugby ball; Mark hip-hopping with MC Ivetamazing before doing the dinosaur (not many Strictly exes get to found a signature move).

Then ATD did a bit of piss-ripping and leg flailing on a flying carpet and finally Patrick honked Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and got to front the VERY LIMITED mass dance, which even Rachel could just about manage.  Good times!  And a good cast, all told.  Just a shame they dressed the lady-pros in flammable ruffled toilet roll covers - Anya in peach drew the particularly short straw.

I quite enjoyed Putting on the Ritz too, in spite of Robbie 'Robin' Williams (thanks Bruce) and his attempt to go Clooney (sorry RW, some way to go yet).  I think the newbie dancers have earned their place for next year, so I suspect the pro-dancer bidding is going to be cutthroat in 2014.  I'm not going to be betting on the Jordans I don't think - regardless of their (Ola's) popularity, I have a feeling they've pissed off a few too many powers that be.  (Oh and James can come across like an absolute tool jockey.)  Teflon Aliona will be there though - somehow, anyhow, probably training in Barbados.

So there we have it, though not before they wheeled out all the previous winners (EVEN ALESHA!) for some talking head stuff and old dance clips, reminding us (a) of all the pros they'd fired and (b) that once Abbey was announced, 2013 wasn't quite the vintage crown year - a good ride through the weeks, yes, but probably the wrong result.  

But I don't want to leave things on a downer.  Abbey did some wonderful dances and didn't come across (to me anyway) as the vacuum-headed materialistic show pony we might have assumed she was.  Sure, she wasn't ever happy with her hair and sometimes had trouble focusing on whoever was talking to her, but she seemed comparatively down-to-earth, you know, for a WAG (I mean 'model and presenter').  Besides, I'm not sure Strictly is always about the winner - often it's about the JOURNEY (*and the crowd spews*) and the whole billion week shebang.  On that note, I'm off to watch the Myers Trilogy: Dave Like Jagger, DaveLoaf, Dave Fruit Trolley, via Mark C Hammer and Natalie TOUCHING THE DIVINE.  Those are my moments of the series - alongside Bruno falling off his chair.  Thanks for skimming my nonsense each week folks!  See you for Apprentice / Eurovision / Bake Off season.  Till then, keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep dancin'!

Series 11 – Semi-final

Well, what a rollercoaster year for my £1 – initially dismissed then a brief glimpse of promise followed by a mediocre plateau before an ever increasing hope that, hang on, actually, maybe... maybe...  ahhhh, nope: stark rejection at the final hurdle.  Also, Patrick left the competition.

You may (or probably not) have noticed slight blog delay this week – no it wasn’t grief at losing my £1, but more like, you know, LIFE.  Christmas is a time of … well just having shitloads of stuff to do* at the same time that everyone else has shitloads of stuff to do* and we all get in the way of each other's shitloads whilst eating our bodyweight in chocolate coins and mincepies, even though you'd think the sugar high would power us on.

(*For example, Mr Cad has been threatening that he's going to “WIN CHRISTMAS” such is the high quality of his gift offerings.  Like I'm not going to rise to THAT challenge.  Anyway, I'll be the last one laughing - I have a LOT of Boots Advantage points to use up, oh yes...)

ANYWAY, all that time-wasting to say, I'm sort of speed blogging this week.  Handy headings, all content, no style.  (“What's changed, etc etc, boom boom...”)  Here we go!

Bye bye: Patrick and Anya.  Anya can stay for 2014, please.  She seems adorable and she has her partner's back - literally, in fact, by giving Patrick tails, to conceal his booty in the waltz.  Arguably that successful look was subsequently offset by the not-entirely-authentic purple décor of his paso jacket (still I suppose there will be some fans), but Patrick still managed to bring the macho, sort of.  Also, whoever was responsible for setting a paso to Because The Night: PAY RISE.

So, fare thee well, Patrick. I’m not sure how much I’d have paid attention if there hadn’t been gambling involved, but he was a fine dancer and seemed a nice, if serious, man.  In the end though, he was a mite too boring for a prime time popularity contest - Strictly loves a panto luvvie, but a luvvie luvvie... Well that's just a bit too intense.

Dance-off: Natalie and Artem in shocker-that-wasn’t-really-a-shocker shock!  Mainly I can’t believe that Artem donning Ian's Legendary Red Trousers wasn't enough to keep them safe - mind you, nor was BEING AMAZING.   My only gripe - it was just a little too controlled and I'm not quite convinced of the chemistry.   The salsa too was a little bit clinical, but I live for fringing - beautifully matched with the Gumede hair. And my, what spinning action!  Artem's Sexy Chef look, though? Not so much.

Bruno’s on the turn: Here’s how attractive Abbey and Aljaz are - she samba-ed in a giant turquoise Fraggle Rock hem, he American Smoothed in a frilly blouse and tie, and yet they still managed to look divine.  It’s inhuman.  Weren't they good?  Yes, they were.  Guess we can move on then!

More oomph please vicar: Sophie and Brendan.  So now I’m dreaming of an episode on next year's The Apprentice where they have to market a ballroom dancing competition.  Imagine the board room!   IMAGINE THE ADVERT!  Sophie’s paso started off strong, but then it sort of dipped for me. And I'm honest, I think it's the dress that really inspired the standing ovation - sweet mother of sewing, that was a triumph in backless blue.   In fact, the American Smooth was all about the dress too - and that lift where Brendan swung her by her armpits and she smiled sweetly through the obvious pain.  I love Sophie as a person (well, as the media projection of a person that we see through the safety of an edit), but I'm not 100% sold on her dancing.  If she’s still here, it’s down to her Week 2 charleston - but for a dance to have that kind of power, even ten weeks later, is preeeeety impressive, so I’m ok with it really – and looking forward to seeing it again.  Bring on the glitter champagne!

Lucky escape (again again again): Kevin: “Here's our plan of action, Susanna.  The foxtrot is looking quite good but, just to be on the safe side, I'll get the Kev from Grimsby spexy specs out.  Twitter LOVES them, so it will totally lull everyone into a false sense of lust and security.  THEN when we get to the hot mess that is our salsa, we’ll bedazzle the audience outfits of shiny peach neon - they'll be too blinded to see too well and will assume that that dance was as good as the first one. BOOM! FINAL!”  Well... it worked. The weakest couple of the night, but infectious energy, so I can understand their popularity. 

Pro-dances: #1. Jaunty Kill Bill meets Young Paul Daniels (Anton in canary yellow satin and pork pie hat - MY EYES!!!). 

#2. Artem once again tries to break Aliona’s neck to music – this time in front of Celine Dion (Now imagine the all-mighty pro-cat fight there would have been to front a Dion number.  I KNOW!  Swingathon violence, I'm reckoning.  No wonder Kristina was looking pouty.)

#3. A terrifyingly bendy exhibition show dance.  That was one brave lady-dancer - not only was she basically supporting a bulk of neck-less man muscle by her teeny neck, but her lacey leggings were unquestionably the tackiest the BBC has ever seen.  Not even Ola Jordan would dare go there.  Nor would Primark.  Maybe.

Tessdressmess: Saturday: acceptable black with prison bar neckline.  Sunday: horrific white belted satin sheets over candy crush saga sleeves.  One again, the rise and the fall, all in the space of a weekend.  At least the boob hoik is still working.  Come on TessTess - you've got this.

Bruce: WHY? WWWWWWHHHHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYY???

Also of note: Shout out to the audience member who made her own fuchsia sequinned cape for the show.  Horrible.  BUT RESPECT.

Next time: THE FINAL. When all is said and done.... Team Natalie.  But I’d be happy with an Abbey win.  In the meantime, brace yourselves for the showdances.  You know the drill by now – nothing ever lives up to that much hype.  I mean, I didn’t even like Tom Chambers’ gurn and tapdance, and that’s supposed to be the ultimate!  And at the other end of the scale, there’s an Erin puppet show (too sad to link to) and Lisa Snowden being bundled around in a leotard, so you can see why my expectations are LOW.  Then again, why not keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep hoping.

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? 

Series 11 – Week 10

*standing ovation for Mark and Ivetamazing* - fare thee well you lovely, gorgeous, wonderful people.  What a fab-u-lous pairing they have been, and surely Iveta's role as a flexible-of-leg Strictly Ledge is already set?  It's always awesome seeing a genuinely comic woman on TV, and Iveta was able to sneak that past the sexists by being gorgeous, foreign and deadpan, so that BOOM!, we were already giggling when we realised she was intentionally being brilliant and hilarious.

Ivetamazeballs concluded proceedings in one of her finest outfits to date: Rum Tum Lady Tugger – bringing slinky femininity to that most testosteroney of Cats, though Mr Cad did have trouble trying to determine where her weave ended and her costume began.  Although I'm really sad to see Mark and Iveta go, I imagine that Mark's knees are utterly delighted.  At least the rest of Mark was able to go out on a high after Sunday's dance-off - I thought they pulled out a better performance of their Lion King Samba than the Saturday night attempt, where Mark had a slight air of being tired and emotional - though not tired and emotional in the same way I was on Friday night at my office Christmas do, where I had a bit of strop because the DJ manning a rival office party in the next room was playing Buffalo Stance, whilst we had to suffer a DJ playing songs released THIS YEAR - to an empty dancefloor, obvz. Like, hellooooo, know your late-twenties/thirty-something audience, young man.  (Eventually he relented and put some Backstreet Boys on.  It was a start.)

So that's Ben's £1 which leaves us - but after two years of drawing Anton, making it to December is a result.

I was wondering if I needed to adjust my set during the dance-off, such was the orange nature of proceedings.  I'm still not sure who won the tan-off between Ashley, Ola and Iveta, but there was some quadruple dip going on, I reckon.  Even the poo slacks (back with added tail!) had been tangoed – and not in a good ‘ballroom dance’ way.

Although it probably wasn't fair, it wasn’t entirely surprising to see ATD in the dance-off - not during rumba week anyway.  Oh rumbas...  :-(  Ashley might have been wearing the world's most billowy white trousers, but we still had to adopt Rumba Mode to watch most of his Aladdin tribute, peering at the TV squinty eyes through splayed fingers, on the corner of awkward and cringe - though we are talking about a song covered by Peter and Jordan, so it was perhaps to be expected.

Anyway, Ashley and Ola weren't ready to leave - not this week!  After all, no-one rumbas like La Jordan in a catsuit.  And what a catsuit!  Gladiators meets Syncronised Swimteam meets Can't Get You Out Of My Head meets Arabian Nights (meets acrylic Geordie Shore wig in need of serious de-matting).  And the upshot is this: they’ve got one dance-off under their belt and the rumba is behind them, so that’s good news for Team Ola-ash.   And good for us too, as we won't have to watch the final sexy pose again, where Ashley performed a rather unfortunate Touching Cloth face.

Susanna was lucky to survive the bottom two, I think; as popular as she and Kev may be, she needs a great dance to pull through again next week.  I didn’t really enjoy their messy quickstep and the VT didn't help, as I spent much of the subsequent dance worrying about whether they'd tumble to the floor when they stepped over that sofa.  Not wishing to heap on the criticism, but... well, doing it anyway.... I wasn't a fan of Susanna's dress either - that lycra to mid-thigh wasn't as friendly to an excellent figure as it should be.  (Don't take a leaf out of Tess' Book of Unflattering Materials for Milfs, Susanna - you can do better than that.)  However, props, as ever, for the trademark energy levels from the pair of them.  Seriously, they could out-Tigger Tigger.  It’s natural too, I’m sure - if it were chemically-induced, we’d know, as a perky drug that effective would pummel the opposition, and Kev'n'Suse would be sitting on an Avon Barksdale style empire by now. (I realise Breaking Bad is the go-to drug reference du jour, but Mr Cad and I stalled partway through Season Two in the summer, and it’s taking all my willpower not to just Wikipedia the rest, so I’m sticking with The Wire for now.)

Plenty of energy for Abbey and Aljaz's Saturday Night Salsa too and not even Craig could resist the power of disco.  I didn't FOURTY! love it, but I did enjoy it greatly, though not because of Aljaz' white suit ACTUALLY.  We don't always get a salsa placed so late on in the series, but I like it when we do, as it didn't end up being the usual stompy arm-tangle when handled by a more experienced celeb like Abbey - though perhaps that's because it wasn't really a salsa, but a heady mix of disco and Travolta pastiche.

It seemed at first that we weren't going to see Craig wield his ten paddle, not after he hilariously pissed all over the ten party for Anya and Patrick’s Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Charleston.  I think I’m with Craig really (sorry sweepstakees) - firstly, it's hard for anyone to follow Sophie's charleston, and secondly, as I’ve said before, I don’t think charleston benefits from a theme - it's kerazy enough on its own, thanks.  Still, there were some great lift combos to distract from Anya’s flammable grandma nightie dress and an excess of sweaty gurning.

Sophie’s outfit had something of the nightie about it too, but FRANKLY if you’re going to Viennese Waltz to something from the Sound of Music, you should be dressed in curtains or a wimple - end of.  I also have a further complaint - about the on stage props. Roses – check.  Bright copper kettles – check. Brown paper packages tied up with strings – check. Kittens... WHY NO KITTENS?!?!  Next year, I DEMAND KITTENS!  As for the dance, I know it was beloved by Twitter, but to me - meh.  It felt like there was a bit too much Brendan-based dragging.  Soz.

Mind you, at least it was based on a cracker of a film, unlike Natalie and Artem’s American Smooth, where... well, to be blunt, Dreamgirls is the worst film I've ever seen.   I mean, I say 'seen', but my sister and I had to fast forward through most of the second half, such was our frustration and rage at its unbelievable crapness - Sorry Bey, but it is UTTERLY TERRIBLE. (And that's the view from two women who have made it through more than one Bring It On film.)  At least my cranky vibes didn’t hinder Natalie from pulling out a wonderful dance, though I wasn't a fan of the desperate Don't Leave Meeeeee floor dive at the end.  On the other hand, I was a fan of Artem’s hilariously pompous valour jacket with glitter bird dropping décor.

So, speaking of ‘fashion’... oh Tess.  Oh TessTess.  Saturday’s crochet and jewel corset in 'sexy' beige was a total return to TessTessDressDressMessMess.  It probably needed about three or four thousand more hoiks to get the boob area shaping less, well, gravity-assisted, and the stomach rather less... full.  I'm not saying she should force herself into a painful girdle just to have difficulty breathing for a hour or so, no no.  What I'm saying is this: WEAR A DRESS WHICH FITS WITHOUT WHALEBONE PAIN AND SUPPORTS YOUR DALYS IN PERKY COMFORT.  It CAN be done, TessTess.  I promise.  I mean, you didn’t quite manage it on Sunday, but at least that black number wasn’t quite so... what’s a nice way of saying ‘droopy’?  And it's true that you weren’t wearing a necklace made of smarties, like Darcey was.   (Baby steps?)

In more positive news, it’s that time of year when we get more pro-dances, which is good.  I feel like we’ve seen those sailor suits en mass before, but these are still tough economic times so I can understand the need to recycle a tried and tested uniform fetish which appeals to a range of sexualities.   And Anton got upgraded to Captain of Minimal Dancing, which we can all commend.  

I was also glad to see Janette ¡Manrara! leading the charge and the high leg kicks, in those HELLO scarlet dresses during that Fame! number.  Fringingmazeballs.  I hope ¡Manrara! comes back next year for more, and not just so that she brings her handsome beau with her.  (Honest. HONEST!)

Kevin and Karen are welcome back too - if it were up to me.  Though their pro dance, whilst excellent, did have me reaching for my rumba fingers to hide behind - it felt a little intrusive to me, like we were peering into an on-our-way-to-the-bedroom situation. (S'ok guys, you can keep that to yourselves - we get it!  You're into each other!)  

I also wanted to shield my face from the BBC’s continued affront on my VERY SPECIFIC demands regarding the use of conventionally attractive female backing musicians - I actually couldn’t believe that there were EVEN MORE stringbots (and even a harpbot) sexily playing at Alfie Boe's feet.  Seriously?  Clearly I’m all for supporting female employment, but pffffff - are the finest backing fiddlers (cause heaven forbid we should have several weeks in a row of female classical stars headlining Strictly!) really all anonymised white slender elegant lady ones?  I’m not sure it’s the strongest display of the BBC’s commitment to celebrating diversity.

So we’ve made it through Musicals Week unharmed and it’s nearly time for the next batch - including the swingathonahoy.   Sure, the swingathon is the hottest mess of the lot, but  it has its moments - I’ll be looking forward to spotting sabotage kicks and Ola having an almighty strop when it’s her time to leave the dance floor.  As for the final - yes, here comes the F-Word - I’ve decided I’d like to see a Natalie-Abbey-Patrick final, with a Natalie win.  It’s a head over heart over financial gain thing, but there you go.  Truth is, anyone can get there now, so who knows how I'll feel next week.  Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep wondering.

Series 11 – Week 9

Erm, has anyone checked on Kristina?  I fear she may still be trawling the Elstree corridors, mascara streaming, dance stiletto in hand, gunning for Darcey, Bruno and Len. Or maybe she’s tracking down each individual phone voter, one by one, to wreck havoc and wrath with some reinforced glittered talons.  Poor lovely Kristina - ever since Calzaghe was (oh so mistakenly) deemed the pre-show bookie's favourite, via the Donovan thigh clamp to this year's hunk jackpot, she’s felt the trophy so very nearly in her grasp, but it just hasn’t happened for her (yet).  MAYBE NEXT YEAR, KRISTINA.  I'M WITH YOU, LOVE. Frankly, it feels like it should be her turn fairly soon.  Let’s not have another Eringate, eh?

Ben, however, was totally fine about leaving - he’d said his goodbyes to TessTess before the dance-off even started.  He gave it his all during the last few weeks - happy to throw on whatever teeny piece of vestwear Kristina threw at him, even pumping up the gun veins for their strongman charleston, as well as donning glittered braces and attempting some Louis Smith style gurning, but his final performance just didn’t have the oomph-edge or determined effort that Mark’s did.  So let’s remember Ben's ovary-warming paso, the genuinely lovely American Smooth and his all-round right on, kind, bemuscled, swoony, general quality good bloke-ness.  Oh, and that time they dressed him as a sailor.

Sorry Katie – that’s your £1 gone.  At least you’re safe from Kristina’s fury - as whether you voted for her or not, she'll think you did.  Or you can claim to have done so, as she approaches with her sharpened dance shoe.

Without wishing to compromise my own safety, I'll admit that I'm pleased to see Mark survive again: a) as I think he has more to offer than Ben in performance terms and b) IVETAMAZING.  I wasn’t a huge fan of their foxtrot, because, well, I’m not a huge fan of the foxtrot, but it was still adorable and included an Ivetamazing leg extension, which will be firmly included on all Strictly 2014 bingo cards.

For me, the dance of the night falls to Abbey or Patrick – I can’t quite decide.  I think Patrick edged it really, as a paso doble to 'You Got The Love' is fairly textbook Strictlycad taste, whilst a Viennese waltz to 'A New Day Has Come'... well, it takes a lot for the romantic mush to conquer my steely cynical core, but this totally worked, in spite of Anya’s toilet roll dress and 90 seconds of a Celine Dion cover.  Probably I was distracted by the wind machine opener and thought I was at Eurovision, where my ears are regularly exposed to the most overblown gorgonza and I totally forget to implement a sonic decency filter. Yes, that must be it, as the alternative - that I actually secretly and subconsciously rate la Dion - is a preposterous notion!   (Mind you, I can listen to the whole of 'My Heart Will Go On' in one sitting and, whilst I wouldn’t say that I enjoy the experience, I can do it without being overcome by a Hulk/Rihanoff-esque rage - I understand this to be a rare skill.)

Elsewhere, unhindered by choon cheese (though hindered by an ouchy curtain rope plait repeatedly smacking her in the face) Abbey's paso was also great - even though the judges were really quite harsh to her.  (Then again, harsh judging was the evidently producer-sanctioned storyline of the evening, as everyone took a slug from the judges.)  I thought Abbey looked glorious in slinky blue and managed some excellent fierce face (Tyra, or whichever Tyra-substitute was doing Britain's Next Top Model at the time, would be proud).  Also, and I don’t want to start a rival thread to the Digital Spy buttocks one or dwell on a well-worn crush, but Aljaz in a little waistcoat and toreador trews...?  Well...  (*controversial statement ahoy*)  Sorry Pasha, but I think you’ve been usurped.

Whilst we’re on shameless objectification, I mean, complimenting body parts (oh yeah, like saying it like that makes it better), well done to Natalie’s breasts, which looked especially magnificent in her Jem and the Holograms tango dress.  So much so that I will accept her straightened locks, but I want the 'fro back soon please.  I thought Natalie's performance was as excellent as ever, but it was marred by a rubbish old song choice.  Rihanna’s 'Where Have You Been' might be fine for some in the air finger pointing and club night bum-shaking on the roof terrace of a Balearic superclub, or indeed the sweat and beer-stained dance floor of a Romfordian discotheque, but for a tango?  I don’t think so.  Though it’s possible that the Wonderful Wonderful Orchestra just didn’t have quite enough sub-woofing bass to carry it off properly.  Speaking of, where’s Trev the Hat gone?  I haven’t noticed his Phil Jupitus cheeky face poking out behind the ever slimming Dave Arch.

Ashley’s waltz also had an odd musical choice, but actually 'I Will Always Love You' worked out better than Tango Riri, even though it was essentially background music, which barely related to the beat of their dance - am impressed that we couldn’t hear them counting 1-2-3 1-2-3 out loud really.  I’m sort of warming to ATD.  By which I mean, I don’t irrationally dislike him as much as I did at the start.

I’m coping with Brendan quite well too this series, though his overly repeated (and therefore whiny) defence that ‘it’s still a rumba even though we weren’t bonking on the dancefloor in dance form, get over it BRUNO’ was slightly annoying.  I don’t think that was the problem the other judges actually had with the dance; my understanding was that, sure, it wasn’t a raunchfest, but that interpretation was actually ok – the trouble was the fact that it was cold and not particularly chemistrycious.  (I.e., it’s fine to make it romantic, but, well, MAKE IT ROMANTIC.)  Sophie remained fairly impassive to me and didn’t seem filled with lust *or* glazed adoration for Brendan, though, admirably, she didn’t break down in giggles - using all her skills as 34 year old woman, probably.  I was also no fan of her gauze maxi dress over beige leo complete with cutesy hair barettes– even la Bextor couldn’t persuade me that that was a look to copycat.  

Susanna’s chocolate-coin skirt-pants look was a better one, if a skimpy one, but such is the way of the cha cha cha.  Her dance was an appealing hot mess to me, with the highlight the OH NO HE DIIINT Ricki Lake finger wag at the start of the show, as Kevin chatted up Darcey - this then seamlessly led to a decidedly pelvic walk up to the judges’ bench to wrench Grimsby on to the dancefloor.  I’ll say this for Susanna, she commits, and fearlessly.   I doubt she'll go without a fight.

Both she and Sophie were precariously placed on the leader-board - at this stage, the wrong dance can fox someone, and this year it seems closer than ever.  I suspect Mark won’t push on much further (he’s got the samba this week  - so UH-OH), and then, well, I just cannot call it.

Overall it was a bit of a lacklustre week, all told - a Blackpool hangover really.  So let’s discuss the real highlight: Mary Berry leaping out of a giant cake.  

Good old Bezza – she’s used to dancing, clearly, given her fondness for Ibiza, and for a Bake Off fan like me, it was an excellent surprise.  Though on some level, the comedy value of Paul Hollywood being made to sit in a fake cake before getting wheeled on stage by Anton, well...  That might have edged it.  I also enjoyed Bruno’s attempt to sex up his chef’s outfit, by slipping open not one, not two, but several buttons.  I doubt that much exposed chest hair is a wise move in the kitchen.  It’s highly flammable, you know.

Il Divo must have pinned the show down to a regular, contractually-obliged, Results Show appearance, as there they were again - promoting their special brand of genetically modified testosteropera.  Spanish Divo is still my favourite (my ‘favourite’); it's the way that his weird kiss curl, permanent smirky eyebrow and utter lack of neck don’t in any way hinder his unabashed self-confidence that he is a sexy hombre the senoras just CANNOT RESIST - I’ll never cease to find that contradiction properly hilare.  As for the others, Swiss Divo still looks like a waxwork Bond villain moulded from the shiniest of materials, and the Americano and Frenchio Divos remain interchangeable (no idea which one is which, or if they even are American and French).  Anyway, all four Divos need to work on their harmonies – what a cacophony during the choruses.  I’ve seen am dram versions of West Side Story and they were waaaaaay better than that.  

I find the concept of Il Divo fairly depressing at the best of times and it further saddened me that they’ve nicked Andre Rieu’s SUPER PROGRESSIVE idea of having all that steamy singing manhood adoringly framed by hot lady fiddlers.  I think there must be a factory in the Alps where armies of orchestral fembots have been manufactured and sold as sexy (and easily transportable) musical machine-based support for macho classical singers on tour.  Cause, you know, actual human female professional violinists wouldn’t be able to cope, what with all the high risk swooning potential around such melodious hunk appeal.  *sigh*

In other sad news, Tess was wearing a cropped jumpsuit made of a sofa cushion. (*double sigh*)  Saturday’s slightly boring Sexy Grecian dress was fantastic by comparison (meh on any other scale), but it was interesting to note that the skirt was full of mucho fabric and slit free - TessTess obviously playing it safe on the Bruce thigh grab front.  Claude was in hot pink, but my eyes automatically auto-erase any Winkeman fashion issues, as SHE IS SO WONDERFUL.  Regardless, Darcey won all the dress-offs with Sunday’s number - lacy sleeves.  Hello.

And that's our lot people, more or less.  Hopefully there’ll be a bit more pizzazz during next week’s Musicals themed show.  They’ve been priming us for years to find the theme weeks JUST SO EXCITING and maybe my defences have been worn away now, as I’m quite looking forward to it.  Mind you, that could be because we’re left with really able performers now, so each dance has the potential to be truly great.  So, ‘ooooh come on’ as Len frequently says.  Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep jazz hands.

Series 11 – Week 8 - Blackpool

Well, you had a jolly good run, Fiona, and were able to happily leave on a pretty good dance, in which you looked like a slightly older Kristen Dunst playing a rich divorcée riding the alimony pony, who ends up riding Anton The Pilot - in DANCE FORM, MY GOD, YOUR MINDS.   Yes, the riding involved a slightly unfortunate legs akimbo lift hoist, but overall I thought it was a lovely American Smooth for Fiona, who exits with a higher media profile and Anton du Beke’s eternal friendship (one out of two etc etc – oh I jest, I’m coming round to Anton these days, now he’s gone for the season).  Here also endeth Wardrobe’s kindest dress run to date; even that bejewelled leafy dress was comparatively fetching - and quite the sheeny shiny (sunglasses-advised) sequinfest.  Julien Macdonald, Cher and Joan Collins are currently embroiled in a violent rumble over who gets to keep it.  My money is on Cher, obviously.

As for your money, ciao to your £1 Dan – another one bites the sweepstake dust.  Sorry. :-(

I was very pleased to see Mark survive though, as giving a big man with problematic knees a dance as frenzied as THE JIVE - well, that’s just nasty, and not in a good Miss Jackson way.  (AND that was on the back of a rumba – hardly the easiest run of dances.)  It's almost like The Powers wanted Mark out, but not yet, not on Ivetamazing's watch (as Twitter has deemed her – Ivetamazebombs, if you ask me).  This week I particularly enjoyed Ivetamazing's face when Mark offered her chips and gravy: “Mmmmm, my favourite” she said, deadpan and poker-faced, clearly a graduate of the Joey Tribbiani school of food acting, though the subtext was clear: "I vill not eat zis shit".  

Their performance wasn't half bad either – given the circumstances (bulk and knees) and his costuming (red velvet tomato).  From anyone else, a jive to Can't Stop The Beat would have put me in a right sulky old mood - Erin already dun it and she dun it best - but Mark has a genuine right to use that tune, seeing as he's actually Edna Turnblad-ed his way through real-life-people-paid-to-see-it-on-stage Hairspray. AND they got the dinosaur in.  Great fun. 

In spite of the excessively repetitive hype (we get it, TessTess, the atmosphere is great) and overuse of Blackpool sunglasses, it was an excellent show, with the standard visibly improved from where we started.  Everyone danced as well as you would hope and there some absolute crackers in there, even though Craig’s ten paddle was defiantly held back.

The real surprise for me was ATD.  Sure, I was expecting him to be highly competent, but when I heard we were getting a cowboy paso, my first thought was: Oh Ola, sweetheart, best leave the conceptual shizzle to Iveta and the costume-based pervification to Kristina.  But I actually rather enjoyed their ridiculous Wild West Doble, no doubt in part thanks to a bit of Bon Jovi action powering it along (a well-established feature of any Cad and Mr Cad roadtrip - that and some Springsteen, oh yesss).  And Ashley danced it very well - he wasn't as mincey as he has been in the past, though his angry outlaw sex face looked more like a schoolboy trying to stifle a few giggles, so that was a little less successful.  Ola does still need to work on the pervification, though - there was far too much boring black and brown in there and far too little glittery chaps action.  Imagine how Robin would have cowboy-ed it up?  YEE-HAW.

In many ways, Kevin from Grimsby’s paso costume could also have done with some additional Strictly pimping too - yes, it was sequinned and elaborate and scarlet but it was still lacking something somehow...  Let's face it, Artem would have totes paso-ed topless, or with some under-jacket nipple flashing at the very least, and Anton would probably have insisted on a tasseled hat.  But I do respect the very traditional styling (and the shirt remaining on) - I think it was the tie that was perhaps problematic; like an office worker who hadn’t quite got out of his work wear before getting his matador on. (And what an extra circular activity *that* would be - by day, he writes reports in the heart of Milton Keynes, by night, HE BULLFIGHTS!)  I did enjoy Kevin's eye make-up though - is this a man with a secret emo past?  I can totally see him with a glued-down GHD-straightened fringe over the left eye.

Anyway, enough of Kev’s styling, let’s talk about the dance, shall we?!  I usually prefer a RAWK paso, but I really liked this - camp yet fiery, with an amazingly dramatic SMACK DOWN ON THE FLOOR death scene.  Mr Cad has predicted Susanna for the trophy, and I think he might have something.  He’s also called an inevitable BBC ship-jump to Daybreak  in the New Year - again, that might well be accurate.  I’ll just heed this warning to our Suz: Christine Bleakley. (Unless, of course, Susanna is keen to add “Text Santa” and “That Dog Can Dance” to her CV - thank you Wikipedia, as I’m afraid I missed those TV jewels). 

I’m still naively gunning for Natalie to win though, I *think*.  She’s just so good and the fact that she keeps getting snarks from the GBP for being so good (I mean how DARE she!) is enough to make her a bit of an underdog in my mind.  Her return to the stage wasn’t quite the stormer I’d imagined (the charleston is going to be hard for anyone after Sophie’s era-defining turn), but it was still a fantastic, if gurn-y, performance, even though I spent the first half trying to suss out how they got her wonderful giant mane under that Josephine Baker wig.  I loved the  channelling of Betty Boop too - though just typing that makes me now want to see a Betty BOO charleston (or indeed any other Boo-based number), ideally with a Budget Space Age theme.  I realise it will be a challenge for the Strictly Singers to recreate that brilliantly shoddy rap style, but I'm willing to take the risk.

Whilst I was on board with Susanna and Natalie’s tens, I’m not sure I was quite there with Abbey’s - though clearly a seVEN from Craig was ludicrous, especially after he proclaimed that he “absolutely LOVED it”.  Mind you, I'm always happy to see a ten from Bruno.  I will never tire of Bruno’s ten delivery - back not just with a pout, but with added pelvic thrust and frontal fist pump, like an over-excited Power Ranger.  Sure, I enjoyed Abbey and Aljaz’s quickstep, but (unlike Craig) I didn’t absolutely LOVE it, although I will concede that that Digital Spy thread about Aljaz's behind must have been buzzing.  White trews and braces?  Gosh.

In many ways, I preferred the other quickstep, from Sophie, who looked like she was having a whale of a time being whisked around by Brendan in her Quickstep blue.  Of course, that was probably because it was such a marked improvement on her costume in the opening group number on Saturday - not even Sophie Ellis-Bextor can pull off being dressed as a giant lilypad.  As much as I love to watch a quickstep, I’ve never been tempted to try one, as it’s basically jogging in hold, which sounds like taking a non-fun thing and making it even harder.  But after seeing Sophie give it a go... well, maybe I *do* want to quickstep!  And (shock upon shock) maybe I could even give jogging in hold with Brendan Cole a go (have I gone too far?).   Sophie’s delightful I-want-to-be-your-mate cool is exactly the kind that the advertising industry tries to bottle and whiff out an attempt to sell stuff, such is the potential of her influence.  I’d recommend people avoid walking over bridges in Sophie’s company - if Sophie Ellis-Bextor said you should jump...  Well, there's a fair chance you would, I reckon.

I think there’s also a fair chance that many viewers would have been keen to play Twister with Ben - although beware his competitiveness when it comes to Buckaroo; as Kristina said: “I'm not going to lie, Ben was in the zone”.  And clearly a boardgame session was just what was needed to get Ben to focus on the prize - their American Smooth was great, though it's fair to say that performances which are low on dancing and high on Ben spinning Kristina above his head like a basketball are going to aid the Cohen passage through the competition.  Ben is lovely - immensely attractive, both because of his face and physique, but because he is so clearly a right good egg who battles for all the right things - but I’m not so blinded by pecs and ethics that I’d want Ben to beat out the better dancers.  Unless he gets better at the dancing as well as the lifting, I think I’d rather see Mark and Patrick progress further at this stage. 

Or do I? Argh. It's tough. Next week is going to be interesting - particularly given the trajectory that Patrick is following (well performance-wise), as he really is trotting out ever improving dances.  We all know how difficult and potentially rubbish the samba can be, but Patrick totally rocked it, and he even managed to be not-completely-cringearama-dad-dancey in a glitter chiffon shirt - at 50!  (Maybe there is hope for my sweepstake £1 after all...)  Poor Anya though - to be wearing so little and to still get your heel caught in the Fraggle Rock escapee tacked on to your bottom...  That's Alanis Morrisette-eque irony, that is.   

But of all the costume woes... well. 

*deep breath* 

WHAT THE HELL WAS TESS WEARING ON SUNDAY NIGHT AND HOW THE HELL DID ANYONE WITH EYES WHO LOVES HER LET THAT HAPPEN MY GOD IT WAS AWFUL AND THAT'S IN THE CONTEXT OF YEARS OF TESSDRESSMESS EVEN BY THOSE STANDARDS IT WAS ATROCIOUS YEGADS WHY TESSTESS WHY?  

Seriously though - full length disco bacon with camouflaged disco bacon belt bow does not a fashion success story make.  The only redeeming feature, pointed out by my sister, was that it wasn’t a jumpsuit.  This was a true return to TessDressMess, and no mistake.  Even Saturday’s ear armour and batman utility belt didn’t prepare me for that.  It was an utter horror and it made me sad.  Bad TessTess.

Bruce made me sad too, then (very quickly) furiously angry.  After a week off, you’d have hoped someone might have recharged Bruce's batteries, but OH MY GOD. No. The ‘jokes’... well, even someone of James Jordan's IQ could have seen them coming a mile off.  In our house “SEAGULLS” and “SHORT PIER” were repeatedly screamed at the telly well before Bruce bumbled his way to the 'punchline'.  Good on Ola for not bothering to rearrange her bitchy resting face and forcing a laugh.   And I know it was Blackpool, but there was no need for seventies throw-backing, even if it was only hints.  Did no-one think to caution against the line: “What's not to like about Mr Punch?”  (Oooooh, I don't know... how about domestic violence?)  This has *got* to be Bruce’s last year – got to be.  To think of all the Claude action we’re missing, whilst we’re forced to see Bruce manhandle Tess’ thighs.  Highly depressing.

On a happier note, at least Sunday’s group opener was exceptional.  Clearly inspired by Karen v Ola - or perhaps just a general documentary about the violent world of competitive ballroom dancing (in ballroom dance form, how apt!).  Certainly the dancers threw themselves into elbowing and doggy stares with polished gusto - almost like they had done that kind of thing before.  Though my favourite was non-pro Fiona Fullerton giving Iveta the finger eye, though - that was brillz.

Saturday’s opener was also special, though in a very different way - and I’m not talking about the giant fuzzy felt flower costumes or the fact that Camilla Dallerup (CAMILLA DALLERUP!) made an uncredited cameo appearance without the requisite Strictly Royalty Fanfare, reduced to pushing a piece of stage across the floor in a feather headdress (no matter that she looked like she was really enjoying herself... ) 

No, my issue was this: 

Children ballroom dancing.  

*sigh*

I get that the likes of Artem and Aljaz and Iveta and Ola and, yes, even Karen Hardy and Anton du Beke had to learn the ropes somehow, and I certainly don’t think kids should be mocked for doing what they love, or be prevented from doing it, but... but... but... Oh man, it freaks me out.  I think it’s because I don’t really like anything that has children behaving like adults - whether it's Adolescent Hague at the Tory conference in 1977 (not I like Adult Hague, or indeed any other year at the Tory conference, any better) or kids dressed in preposterous adult ballroom gear, recreating the vertical expression of a horizontal I can’t even finish that sentence.  Look, I get the same feeling when I see a baby dressed in a tux or a toddler in a waistcoat.  I don’t like it, OK.  Even if it is The Future.

ANYWAY, let’s think about a different, and closer, future right now – week 9, back in the studio and getting ever close to the trophy.  I love that it’s quite hard to call - to me, anyone leaving now, even Mark and Ben, will make me sad, as I think they all have much to offer us, in dance/performance/pectoral terms.  I'll just say this - use your five free internet votes, wisely people.  Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep thinking.