John From Wales comments for non members of the Dark Side

John from Wales wrote:Saturday 16th October

“What have we got tonight?”
“Quicksteps and Rumbas.”
“Hmmm, that could go either way.”

Of course we can’t proceed to the meaningful stuff before Notdead does his soft-shoe shuffle and of the d'Urbevilles tries to retain a little decorum at the end of her little jig. Neither goes well.

Kara and Artem kick things off. She looks fantastic in her lemon dress and she does it justice with a scintillating Quickstep that included some fancy footwork, nice arms and a cartwheel. In a ballgown. Hammy’s laughing like Muttley until Silver tongued Italian Stallion pitches in with ‘you lost your back and couldn’t place your arms’ and if he thought he was unlucky when he was booed for his 7 he should have tried sitting in my seat as even a front-runner’s total of 31 couldn’t mollify her biggest (and smallest) fan.

If the prospect of a pensioner doing a Rumba was a trifle alarming, the reality was altogether different. Felicity started with an improbable back bend, moved on to an impossible split and joined them up with enough elegance to raise smiles and eyebrows in equal measure. Grumpy Silver tongued Italian Stallion moaned about transitions but we got our first ‘A-may-zing’ to go with their best score of three 7s and an 8. “She’s better than Kara”, I said. I never learn.

I managed to stop the bleeding in time for Screen Siren Zsa Zsa Gabor Kensit and her partner Robin. They started their Quickstep on the platform and for a while I thought they were going to stay up there. When they eventually hit the floor it was time to start winding things up, which was no bad thing as, despite some fast footwork, it bore the stamp of Annie Get Your Gun – I’ve no idea why because comments that included ‘wild, wild west’, ‘yee-ha’, ‘hoe down’ and ‘horselike’ can’t be what you’re looking for when you’re planning a ballroom. Having picked up a middling 24 she was even equivocal on the question of whether she wanted any votes. “The answer is yes”, said Robin. Personally I’m not so sure. Still, at least she’s better than Kara. Oh, for Chrissakes.

Paul and put a vest on you strumpet are next with a Rumba and I learned two things: 1) Paul can extend both arms at the same time and 2) I don’t want to watch him doing it. This incisive synopsis was extensively reinforced by three of our quartet, sharing, as they did, both qualifications and expertise in the field of dance and while the fourth was alone in ‘wanting to see more dancing’, I wasn’t in wanting to hear more silence. He picked up 16 and 15 of those were for bringing put a vest on you strumpet along.

At least Matt and Aliona had the decency to start on the actual dancefloor so they had to fill a whole 90 seconds with an actual Quickstep – a feat they managed with some aplomb although the frantic pace made it a bit ragged in places. Faced with the prospect of first dibs on a technical dance, Alesha opened with ‘You looked like you was trying to keep up’, while Silver tongued Italian Stallion countered with ‘brilliant timing’ and the fabu-u-lus darling one thought ‘you kept up brilliantly’. Hmmm. I don’t know what to think although another 31 points was a pretty big clue.

The absurdly high standard of this series continued as the orange one and Katya came out for a Rumba. Then the music started and everything went south. Actually that’s not fair – he started with properly elegant arms and a forward step and then everything went south. I’m not sure which one of us was more uncomfortable but at least he had the Kat in his arms by way of recompense. The judicial consensus was unenthusiastic but if the fabu-u-lus darling one’s 3 was a bit on the mean side, Alesha balanced it nicely with a crazy 7.

Tiny and Jared were due to be up next but the chick got the pox so they had to cry off. Unwilling to miss the thrill of her performance we stared at the wall for a minute and a half. It turned out to be pretty good – Hammy got over-excited and gave it a 7.

The void is filled by Nanless Maslen and Strictly’s Eva Braun. “It’s quicker and harder and you have less time”, he complained. Yes mate, that’s why they call it a Quickstep, otherwise it would just be the ‘Step’ and that’s just walking about. It’s the ‘Quick’ that makes it a dance. Well, he may be thick but he’s damn good and he pulls out another corker here. It’s less frantic than his predecessors’ but the upside of fewer steps is more precision. The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman, who was having a bit of an off night, thought he was ‘very close to being very good’ so it was no surprise when the best score of the series lit up the screen and included the first 9 of the year (from a judge who counts).

The rollercoaster ride continued with the unwelcome appearance of Passive/Aggressive and Aggressive/Aggressive. They’re supposed to be doing a Rumba but the absence of anything approaching a transition turned it into a flickbook fiasco that had me reaching for the dictionary. “Is there a difference between a debacle and a catastrophe?” I asked. “Yep”, said the muse. “Good, cos I think this is both.” At one point she flung three of her four limbs in all directions – then she did it again and I think she meant it the second time. Desperate not to upset the fragile flower, the judges soft-pedalled obsequiously while I guppied my disapproval. ‘Liked the storytelling’? ‘Work on your legs’? ‘Try some flat shoes’??? It got worse – the fabu-u-lus darling one nailed ‘em with a 4, The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman bled 6 more and then Aleno added another 14. Two 7s and, not for the first time, the union of forehead and coffee table was an unhappy one.

I thought Scotty was thick but then Erin showed up with Piltdown Pete. He’s really keen, bless him, but all that diving about has taken its toll and he now has the deluded belief of Blackpool the fabu-u-lus darling one. Everyone thought his Quickstep was an improvement on last week; the absence of rise, fall, swing, sway and speed being conveniently overlooked and their best, so far, of 26 meant that ‘aghast’ was becoming my default condition.

Another bloke who hasn’t made much of an impression, Jimi came on for a Rumba with I want to break free and, to be honest, I thought he made a reasonable fist of it – given the unavoidable arsiness of the dance itself. I certainly didn’t get the judges’ misgivings; The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman didn’t like his ‘cranky arms’ or his ‘soft feet’ (I thought they were good things in a Rumba), Silver tongued Italian Stallion thought he’d ‘tried too hard’ and the fabu-u-lus darling one thought his ‘shoulders and hips worked independently’. The further downside was that their reservations were more to do with feeling and approach than technique and I’d have given more than a penny for Arlene’s thoughts at that point. They didn’t really know what to do so they gave him 25.

I’m sorry – sex on legs Widdecombe doing a Quickstep in a feather boa? I just don’t understand it. I mean, I fail to comprehend this on a genetic level. There was no reference to music, timing or rhythm and Housewives choice dragged her round the floor like he was trying to get her into a care home before the drugs wore off. I’d have watched more closely but one of the pets had picked up a volume called ‘Self-Immolation for Cats’ while Hammy was trying to impale himself on his pencil – although, truth be told, I don’t think his heart was in it because he’d started at the rubber end. Still, when your pets are throwing themselves on the traps you have to question your viewing choices. The confusion didn’t end with the music; Silver tongued Italian Stallion thought it ‘looked like a Quickstep’, the fabu-u-lus darling one noted that ‘you did, at least, dance’, The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman said ‘you worked very hard this week’ and Alesha said ‘you worked very hard this week’. She got 18 and I found myself in the strange position of feeling sorry for the millionaire Paul-Daniels.

If the relief had been any sharper I’d have poked my eye out. Pamela and James had the final honour with the last Rumba of the night. The dance is soft, controlled and romantic and as soon as she starts moving she is both sensual and graceful. Even for a Rumba recidivist like me it’s a delight to watch. ‘Fab-u-lous’, ‘mesmerising’ and ‘you sang with your body, you should be proud’ was as elegant a summary as the dance itself and a new best score of 35 was a fitting way to end the show.

“Blimey, now they’ll have to wait 24 hours to find out the result”, I said as the cat turned to chapter two and the hamster whipped out his sharpener.

Sunday 17th October

The excitement’s building, the tension’s rising and there’s a suspicion of bounce from you-know who. Yep, it’s results time again and no-one, as they say, is safe, although some of them are closer to the cordless bungee than others.

The professional dance troupe gets us all worked up with a memorable Charleston and then the judges work us all back down again with some forgettable platitudes before the parade of palpitations and, wouldn’t you know it, sex on legs’s the first out of the hat. Who’d have thought? Pammy (yay!), Peter and Screen Siren Zsa Zsa Gabor Kensit are next before a funny dance from the usually delightful I want to break free. You could call it a Tango. You’d be wrong, of course, but it’s a free country.

Back to the parade and we get Jimi, Matt and (oh, thank God) Kara before the rather spiteful early call for a sacrificial lamb sees Team Pola get corralled into the drop zone. Then someone decides that rather than taxing the weary limbs of our professional troupe or, heaven forfend, resolving the whole ‘results’ issue, we should get to spend three minutes in the company of a man famous for marrying a plastic woman. Good call.

The final reprieves fall to Scotty, Fliss and Gav leaving Long legs do not make me loveable to endure the spotlight as they’re reminded of the worst of the judges’ comments. Eventually it’s Paul who gets the chop and Long legs do not make me loveable who gets the chip, for one more week at least.

John from Wales wrote:Saturday 23rd October

It’s another Saturday evening and the JfW household is melting quietly into its traditional, mellow dance-based reverie.

“Where is he? Where’s the hamster?” There’s a flurry of activity as we run around lifting cushions and cats, finally sinking heavily onto the soft seating as he emerges, breathless but unscathed, from his collapsed, life-sized Kara poster.

The considerable upside to this melee is that we’re preoccupied during Notdead’s agonising preamble. It’s not my imagination is it? Someone’s had a word with him and told him to shorten the tiresome flannel and speed up proceedings which means that in less time than it takes to stick the pins into his voodoo facsimile, we’re looking at the faces of Jimi and I want to break free. Unfortunately we’re looking through windows that, as it turns out, have nothing to do with either the Charleston that they’re not currently doing or the narrative of any story they’re trying to convey. That said, when they eventually start to dance it’s really rather good and I engage with Jimi for the first time. He looked good on his own, his timing and footwork seemed fine and there was some fancy work with canes and cartwheels thrown in for good measure. The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman didn’t see any swivelly feet, Alesha mentioned mistakes without identifying them, Silver tongued Italian Stallion picked on his timing and the fabu-u-lus darling one picked on everything but his face. As a result we get the evening off to a not atypical start with the daylight robbery score of 27. I look down the list of new rules and none of my responses are allowed.

Obviously it’s never too early to pull out all the stops so while I’m still drying my eyes at the thought of Blimey how many people turned this gig down then ? grappling his way through his training without a single nan to fall back on, he shamelessly parades a little blonde kid who I fully expect to see bound, gagged and ransomed should his scores start tailing off. There’s no danger of that just yet though, as he leads Nat through a sharp Tango with great posture and a snappy delivery. The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman liked everything but the incident (that I hadn’t spotted), but still called it ‘the best dance I’ve seen this series’, Alesha and Silver tongued Italian Stallion agreed, as indeed did the fabu-u-lus darling one and the scoreboard. He picked up 35 so the brat’s safe for another week.

Not exactly ‘bouncing’ back from her tribulations, Tina and Jared produce a fun but flat-footed Charleston that includes a nice triple cartwheel but little else. Alesha went first and used the word ‘springy’ while strangely omitting the words ‘not at all’, Silver tongued Italian Stallion wanted more ‘energy and precision’, the fabu-u-lus darling one picked on the timing and footwork and The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman liked the ‘sweetness’ of it all. Having sugared the critical pill, Alesha’s extraordinary 8 helped the score to 29 – 2 more than Jim and the Flav and at least 3 more than the boiling point of my temper.

“Who’s up next?” I asked.
“Felicity and Vincent”, said an unusually chatty Mrs JfW.
“Well, that’ll get us back on an even keel”, I ventured, hopefully.
Felicity’s celebrated flexibility is put to the test early on and although their Tango is not as fast as Blimey how many people turned this gig down then ?’s there are some beautifully executed moves, albeit lifted straight from an Argentine Tango rather than the ballroom. There was a slight stumble and it lost its way in the middle but it was a lovely example of a sultry dance. Silver tongued Italian Stallion liked it so much he promptly re-enacted the whole thing; the fabu-u-lus darling one wanted her to be ‘lower in the knees’ and The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman thought it was ‘beautifully done’. I couldn’t tell you what Alesha thought because she started with ‘You were...’ and the rest of it was drowned out by the popping of our champagne corks. I thought they were going to break the 30 barrier but they were unjustly held short by a point.

Back to the Charleston with Screen Siren Zsa Zsa Gabor Kensit and Robin and we get to see the first swivelly feet of the night. We also get to see more tricks and flicks but it didn’t hang together and when she’s not rotating her ankles she’s still a bit leaden from the knees down. the fabu-u-lus darling one thought it petered out, The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman liked it so much he got a kiss and Alesha and Silver tongued Italian Stallion said stuff. The score was 28. So, better than Jimi and not as good as Tina? Wrong on both counts.

“Come on buddy, you can do it!”
Ooh, err, that would be Mrs JfW showing her hand then. Can’t think why she’s picked the orange one but he’s here to do his best with a Tango that he’s been talking up all week. That turned out to be a mistake because he tripped on the stairs after all of 3 seconds, the confidence drained from his cheeks and Katya spent the remaining 87 dragging him around half a second behind the beat while the expression on his tanned face suggested he was desperately trying to remember what came next. What came next was a gentle grilling from the judges that culminated in a surprisingly high 23 and a ‘little boy lost’ routine from Gav. Frankly, it’s his best hope.

His next best hope appeared in the shape of Peter, Erin and a bench. Given that she had two partners to choose from I’m not sure why Erin picked Pete because the bench looked better in hold. He was slow, turgid and heavy and the few steps that he actually remembered, he couldn’t actually do. I suspect that Erin knew it would be this bad because, I’m telling you now, that Cabaret costume was no mistake. Alesha thought he’d taken ‘a little step backwards’ although I reckon he’d fall over if he tried that. the fabu-u-lus darling one couldn’t wait for it to finish and The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman thought it was ‘not your finest hour’ which is The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman Code for ‘dreadful’. The scores ticked along nicely with a 2 and a 5 and then Pinhead whipped out a 6 to bump the total to 17 while Mrs JfW gave me a 9 for self-restraint.

Normal service is resumed with the aid of Pamela and James and a sublime Tango marred only by a Calamity Jane dress that actually detracted from the experience. So far she’s taken everything in her stride and the rigid fluidity of this dance is no obstacle – she’s just a joy to watch. The panel enthused about her perfect timing and perfect balance and the scores climbed casually to another 34. Easy.

So if you’re looking for a sign that it’s time to bow out gracefully, it could be the moment when you have to tell your audience that the joke is finished. Naturally Notdead fails to pick up on this so we need something special to regain the mood. ‘Special’ is duly provided by Matt and the sensational Aliona who produce a spectacular Charleston with a strongman on a unicycle, a micro ballerina costume and just general all-round brilliance. He bounces, he glides, his arms are great and his transitions are seamless. He even throws in a few steps with Aliona sitting on his shoulders. ‘The best Charleston of the night’, said The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman. Couldn’t have put it better myself and 35 was no more than he deserved.

With Brendan’s unfortunate absence, Long legs do not make me loveable has to dance the Tango with Ian Waite, not a bad first reserve by anyone’s standards and he seems to have worked a little magic because she’s not bad at all. She gets a bit rag-dollish towards the end but by then she’s done justice to a magnificent cerise-lined silver dress and her increased confidence is evident as she made her way to the judges. They didn’t have much to say, in fact, and if her 27 points were fully warranted it merely served to highlight the grisly injustice done to Jimi earlier on. Mrs JfW cast a sideways glance; her lips said nothing, her eyes said ‘let it go’.

The unsanctioned bouncing tells me Kara’s up next. “I don’t know what you see in this girl”, I said, “she looks like she has to take her socks off to count to 12”. I saw the light as soon as I looked up; she’s not wearing socks tonight then. In fact she’s wearing a costume that provides conclusive evidence that she’s the best dancer in this competition and deserves to be in the final. Mrs JfW checked on Hammy; “Is he all hot and sweaty again?” she asked. “No, he just fell in his drink.”
To the best of my recollection her Charleston was really rather good – couldn’t tell you who she was dancing with and didn’t really notice her hands and feet so I’m probably not the best guy to ask. Amongst those with a more professional disposition, Silver tongued Italian Stallion wanted ‘more sex’, the fabu-u-lus darling one wanted ‘more quirk’, The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman wanted ‘more impact’ and Alesha wanted ‘more fire’ although I notice that none of these people are tasked with dousing the ardour of an inflamed hamster. In light of the comments, 32 was a pretty good score.

Like six-year-olds telling you what the present is before you’ve torn the paper , it’s the way of things these days that no-one involved could resist giving us a heads up about the forthcoming ‘surprise’. So it was that sex on legs Widdecombe arrived for her Tango suspended from a specially strengthened girder. Lacking, as it did, surprise, relevance, conviction, elegance and humour, it was hard to see the justification. The fact that no-one had thought it through became evident when the camera focused solely on Housewives choice while a couple of strapping lads removed her from its confines. On the VT she’d been open about the fact that she’s not concerned with impressing the judges which rather begs the question of why she’s here. Certainly there are no answers in what remains of the dance as poor old Housewives choice camped it up and they finished with a play to her trademark moral rectitude. Struggling to find a way to put a new spin on a very old joke, the judges banged on about ‘entertainment’ but when the scores came in, a total of 21, with 13 from Lenesha, it was a slap in the face to all who had gone before.

At the end we leaned back, exhausted. “That was a cracker”, I said to an empty chair. “Where’s Mrs JfW?” I asked. Hammy looked up: his mouth said nothing; his eyebrows said ‘Gav’.


Sunday 24th October

The pros get us going with a vibrant GI Jive and then a reprise of yesterday’s highlights precedes the first of many Moments of Truth, in which the first name out of the hat is young the orange one which brings a muffled squeak from the room. “Was that you?” I asked Hammy; a bloodied index being an eloquent reply. Blimey how many people turned this gig down then ?, Matt, Tina and Zsa Zsa Gabor follow before Long legs do not make me loveable is unceremoniously pitched into the dumpster.

The second pro dance is a scintillating Argentine Tango and then Pamela, Kara and Felicity follow sex on legs through to next week and it can’t be right that I’m watching a dancing show while contemplating the merits of chemical castration. Asked for their opinions, Silver tongued Italian Stallion hedged, The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman waffled and the fabu-u-lus darling one shot from the hip; his insistence that Pete should be slugging it out with sex on legs being met by derision from an audience of trilobites. In the end it was Long legs do not make me loveable who was saved while Pete was given the boot. He may be taking mad Erin with him but you have to think it’s a price worth paying.

Saturday 30th October

It’s been a challenging week on the JfW sofa. In the aftermath of last week’s Charleston, and, in particular, a certain abbreviated costume, I discovered a previously untapped interest in Kara so I took it upon myself to do some research. It turns out she’s an underwear model so I took it upon myself to do some more research – on your behalf, naturally. The upshot of this endeavour was that for purely dance-based reasons, I decided to support Kara with some conviction.

This is where it got challenging. One aspect of this support took the form of stealing Hammy’s life-sized Kara poster and replacing it with one of sex on legs Widdecombe – and they’re not easy to come by, I can tell you. Obviously, I expected a response, maybe even a backlash. What I hadn’t counted on was a hamster jihad. Still, I’ve learned one thing (well, two, if you include the fact that what is rapidly becoming a Kara shrine is strictly off limits) – the earliest evidence of the crossbow comes from ancient Greece and therefore pre-dates ‘medieval’ weaponry by a thousand years so the one that is firing sharpened sticks of celery at me is, technically, within current house rules. It’s a rare occasion when I’m relieved to see Notdead and his arthritic shuffle but it promises an hour’s respite so it’s the lesser of two evils.

So it’s Halloween then, and we’re celebrating an occasion that we don’t really celebrate in this country with a specially themed show. The pro’s get us in the mood with a feisty opener that’s got something missing; oh yes - ladies. And shirts. They’ve obviously blown this week’s shirt budget on the props so it was good of the chaps to be so understanding.

The first proper dance of the night falls to Pamela and James with a Jive. Sublime up till now, there are several obstacles in the way of this being up to their usual standard – the first of which is that she can’t do Jive. Don’t get me wrong, she’s confident enough to actually dance down the steps, get flipped over Jimmy’s shoulder and throw herself about with abandon – all of which she does with pretty good timing. But when it comes to doing the actual Jivey stuff – you know; the flicks, kicks and bounce – she looks like she’s dancing through treacle. Throw in the fact that Our Fabulous Singers have failed to turn up and in desperation someone’s strapped a parrot to a car battery and you’ve not got the best opener. Unused to picking on one of their favourites, the judges fell back on the old ‘you came ‘aht and gave it a go but it didn’t suit you’ line, none of which seemed to bother Pammy whose hallucinogenic drug habit saw her through her worst score yet of 27.

Tina and Jared are next with an Argentine Tango and the poppet’s confused by the fact that last week she had to be ‘funny’ and this week she has to be ‘sexy’. It’s lucky she doesn’t have to do this acty stuff for a living. Looking like she’s borrowed her mother’s cat suit, the ‘sexy’ just doesn’t work, the music’s awful, the dance is a plodder and if she can’t exhume a personality soon she’s going to drop off the radar. Alesha thought the acting was good, Silver tongued Italian Stallion assaulted Alesha and the fabu-u-lus darling one was ‘bored’ and criticised her solar plexus so it was left to The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman to spot ‘the dancer emerging’. It was also left to The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman to add an absurd 8 to a total of 28.

The announcement of Kara and Artem raises the tension a touch as Hammy comes over all proprietorial and reloads his weapon of choice but we’re both distracted by a brilliant red dress and a dramatic Paso Doble that, as Silver tongued Italian Stallion said, was ‘oozing with passion’. the fabu-u-lus darling one ‘really loved it’, so did The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman and, a proper Brucie Bonus, Alesha didn’t get to speak. She did get to award the first 10 of the series, though, and you couldn’t argue with a score of 37 – well, I couldn’t, not without full body armour.

The next two out are Zsa Zsa Gabor and Robin. At least that’s what the announcer tells us and I have to believe him because I can’t tell the difference between Robin and Artem. Mind you it’s not the first time I’ve had this problem – I still can’t tell the difference between Brendan and a penis. Anyway, the bloke we’re led to believe is ‘Robin’ is playing a Monster Mash Frankenstein and in the process of bringing him to life Zsa Zsa Gabor kills a Jive with a series of lifeless kicks, non-existent flicks and a glutinous wiggle. I braced myself for the anticipated panning and then the fabu-u-lus darling one started with ‘I very much liked...’ and finished with ‘...a fine job’. The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman liked the ‘sharp kicks and flicks’, Alesha ‘loved it’ and Silver tongued Italian Stallion told her ‘you should be proud’. Now, for the record, I like Zsa Zsa Gabor but this was dreary, stompy and uninspired and she picked up an extraordinary 31 points. Confused, I went back for another look and decided that the only course of action was to kill Jill Halfpenny – just so she could turn in her grave.

Next up we’ve got the first Viennese Waltz and Hammy’s been getting ready by doing circuits around the sofa. He needn’t have bothered. Does anyone remember Bill and Karen doing a thousand turns in a memorable and beguiling demonstration of this dance? Can anyone remember the last time anyone mentioned a fleckerl? Felicity and Vincent started on the gallery and they were precisely halfway through before they hit the floor, she had to trot to keep up, the sliding splits would have been good if they hadn’t mucked them up and they finished late. Observing the rule that the Nation’s Sweetheart must not be criticised on national TV, the judges concentrated on the five seconds of good stuff and brandished a benevolent 26.

The trouble with dancing to Thriller is that the definitive Thriller dance has already been done – for the Thriller video. Undeterred, Jimi coerces I want to break free into shoehorning a Paso onto his favourite track. Spotting that it’s not really working out, the producer kindly blankets them in a sea of dry ice so if there’s anything happening from the knees down I’m blissfully unaware of it. What’s happening from the knees up is some lethargic posturing, feeble capery and a bit of chest thrusting, unfortunately from Jimi. Having lost the plot with Zsa Zsa Gabor , the judges gave up on the dancing, wittered on about make-up, storytelling and effort and scared up 30 points. His best score for his worst dance and another coffee table bites the dust.

I’ve barely recovered my composure when Long legs do not make me loveable comes on with a penis. Nope, my mistake, it’s Brendan. Still, they start on the dance floor and I can’t see a prop so they’re already in credit in my book. They certainly started with vim and she’s windmilling like crazy – at one point I counted at least six legs out there - but they moved quickly into the debit column; firstly when she lost the timing and secondly when they stopped dancing – the final 40 seconds being little more than a wild, hoppy flailing affair that owed more to the Time Warp than the Jive. I wasn’t the only one to pick up on this, our expert arbiters falling out over its merits with Silver tongued Italian Stallion liking the ‘demented performance that had nothing to do with technique’, the fabu-u-lus darling one’s ‘lobotomized – but in a good way’ and The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman’s ‘bitter disappointment’ with the lack of Jivosity. The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman’s 6 was the sensible point of a staggering 29 and up with of the d'Urbevilles it emerged that they’d had 2 days of training. Two days? They spent two days working on that?

Gallantly pitching in to help with the whole ‘shirt budget imbroglio’, the orange one steps out for a Paso wearing less than Katya. I shared a conspiratorial brow-raise with Hammy – as if anyone’s so shallow as to vote on that basis. His acting lesson has paid off because this is his best effort by far. He struck a few poses, attempted a few transitions that went beyond simply walking and, in a vote-winning move of the first order, whipped off Katya’s frock. I didn’t know whether to reach for the phone or loosen my dickie so instead I chose to choke on an olive while poking myself in the eye with the cocktail stick. the fabu-u-lus darling one finally saw a ‘hint of personality’ but let the side down with a 5 while the others recognised quality when they saw it and bumped the score to a respectable 27.

Talking of quality, Blimey how many people turned this gig down then ? and Natalie prove that there’s no need for the nan-based nonsense of previous weeks with a spectacular Viennese Waltz. On a scary night like this one she fits right in but there’s no denying Nat knows how to choreograph a routine and Scotty knows how to sell it. The music’s perfect, his timing and poise are exquisite and the whole thing is hypnotic as it draws you in. Only three of the arbiters spoke but ‘spellbinding’, ‘magical’ and ‘Ssssccotttt’ seemed to sum things up nicely. If it didn’t, 39 points certainly did. Brilliant.

Well, you want scary? You got it. If sex on legs and Housewives choice doing a Paso Doble to Wild Thing doesn’t get you running for the exits I don’t know what does. I’ll say one thing for her – with all that stamping she reminded me of Rachel Stevens. Then she stopped reminding me of Rachel Stevens and started reminding me of the time I ran head first into a door frame and knocked myself out but, try as I might, I can’t quite do it again so I have to endure the whole thing including the last 30 seconds that she spends on her behind. When they finish there’s a stunned silence. the fabu-u-lus darling one couldn’t form proper words so he made do with O.M.G. although F.F.S. would have served just as well. They got 16. No, honestly.

At least we don’t have to finish on a bum note because Matt and Aliona come out for the last Argentine Tango and bring some much needed quality to proceedings. To be honest it’s not as snappy as I’d expected it would be and the lifts, while good, are in danger of getting in the way of all that leg trickery but you have to hand it to him – he knows how to move. The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman didn’t like the lifts either but the consensus was ‘dynamic’, ‘intense’ and ‘sexy’ and it says something about the leaders that 34 feels a touch flat.

Sunday 31st October

Hammy’s all chilled out because he thinks he’s picked a winner so he’s getting his excitement from other quarters – basically he’s firing cocktail sticks at an increasingly restless cat and if his aim ever improves he’s gonna be in trouble.

A witty ‘Ghostbusters’ start from the pro’s kicks off another Results Show before the first bunch of twisters are given a pass through to next week and including, as it does, the jaw-slackening incompetents Long legs do not make me loveable and sex on legs, I find that, try as I might, I just can’t come to terms with the unfathomable arse-witted dumbitude of the vox populae. On the other hand they’ve pitched the vapid vamplet onto the trap door so there are at least some viewers out there with more brain cells than fingers. Shortly after, she’s joined by Felicity and while the fabu-u-lus darling one pointed out the absence of sex on legs from the potential dumpees (which, frankly, some of us had already spotted), The Love God that is Leonard The Lion Goodman defended the perversity of letting the great unwashed make decisions.

Alice Cooper delayed the inevitable and the final act saw Felicity breathe again while Tina got the push. Having missed the denouement, Mrs JfW ghosted back in:
“Who’s gone?” she asked.
“Tina.”
“Tina who?”
Quite.