For those of us currently residing in the UK and now hooked to our TV screens for the next few weekends, or at least until I’m A Celebrity… comes back on, can I just ask a quick question relating to the BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing – for the rest of the world, ‘cos I’m popular in Somalia don’t you know, please bear with us or go and put the kettle on for the next few minutes, or pirate the next passing ship. Can we all, please, get together and cast our votes to send home the good dancers? The overly pretty ones with the long blond hair and the surgeon-created smiles stapled firmly into place. Those who have a performing background, or who were especially crafted and molded for the myriad of girl bands. The lovely mannequins who were, or are, regularly choreographed in or for performing careers, and those who were sent to various stage schools as soon as they emerged from the womb, by parents determined to live their lives through their precocious off-spring?
Can’t we vote them out so that the show consists of the more, shall we say, rotund and big-boned variety of our species, and those who have acquired at least two left feet somewhere along their journey? Those like the rest of us who are totally and utterly tone-deaf, and proud of it? The Ann Widdecombe’s of this land for example, who have absolutely no rhythm and who couldn’t carry a tune if it was nailed to their humped-over backs? Just think how much more fun and entertaining that would be as you eat your Saturday dinners in front of the gogglebox; people wobbling about the stage every weekend, dressed in nothing more than large smiles and gregarious sequins, with costumes bulging at the seams, their poor professional partners hanging on for dear life and who would pop a hernia at the mere thought of trying to perform one of those lift things on them. The poor mega-fit professionals struggling gamely to keep up as these celebs two-two wildly in zig-zags across the dance floor to the tune echoing around their head, a tune totally different to the one the band are currently destroying.
Well of course she was good, Mrs Brown from Scarborough. She went to an expensive stage school, to dance school. And she looks very pretty, granted… But she was in a manufactured girl band whose sole job was to frigging dance and prance about a stage. Bring back Brian Conley or even Ed Balls, anything to keep him away from any seat of power, and vote off Alexandra Burke and Aston Merry-something-or-other from some boy band I am proud to say I have never heard of.
And, speaking of I’m A Celebrity even if no one outside my immediate circle has ever heard of me before, let’s vote out the fearless ones as soon as is humanely possible, as soon as the “lines are open”. The brave ones who are up for everything and the ones who face an oncoming certain death with a quip and a devil-may-care smile, for what’s the worst that can happen? And let’s keep in the poor sods scared and scarred by their own shadows. Let’s make them scream and shriek as the spiders and creepy-crawlies are unleashed in their carnivorous swarms of thousands. So much more fun, I promise you.
So get voting folks and gather round with the popcorn.
Oh, as an aside, my lawyer has “suggested”, strongly, that I make it “abundantly clear” that I am not for 1 minute suggesting that all people from Cornwall are Pirates; just the odd few from Bude. I apologise if anyone was offended.