Put the mallett down John ..... the wonderful words have more than done it justice yet again!
Once again, my strictly week is now complete ..... meanwhile I trust the whole family fW are busily brushing up their gladrags for a Blackpool extravagaza
fabulous as ever John ,
Cat has had his fur washed and blow dryed and an extra buff and polish of his claws, he is busy sipping extra virgin olive oil for added sheen . And asks your kind permission to accompany Hammy to Blackpool and show him the moves he needs to woo Kara ,
I hope we will get some musings. I fear John and Hammy might be in a state of shock after yesterday. :eek:
JfW is probably still administering first aid to Hammy after that sight of yellowness on the stage - rather like too much egg yolk with a hint of chicken fluff.
Shame on you, JfW - you should have repaired Hammy's goggles in time.
I see now why Len made that feeble attempt to pretend the Sunday show was live. Trying to disguise his whereabouts !!!
I wonder if he made it onto the plane without mishap! I'm sure Hammy wasn't fooled!
I’m not entirely sure but we may be in Blackpool – I mean, that’s what the sign at the back says but the pro’s are dancing to a song about somewhere else. It’s left to Tess to answer the question and she obliges by pitching up in a shell suit. Vegas it is.
The introductions echo around the vast arena and the scale of the floor underlines the sad reality that the line up is thinning out. Luckily we’ve got Sambas and American Smooths to cheer us up and it’s Patsy and Robin who get the glitter ball rolling with a Copacabana Samba. Well, in truth, the ball doesn’t really roll and it doesn’t really bounce either. Not helped by her trademark leaden feet she plods through the whole thing looking like she’s waiting for Robin’s next instruction. Len started off down a dangerous path by suggesting she’d got ‘onto the wrong trotter’ so it’s one of those rare occasions when I’m relieved to get to Alesha. That’s a feeling that went as quickly as it had arrived; ‘You came out... you captured the feel...you got the party started...’ Is she reading this stuff from a book or what? Bruno applauded her enthusiasm but thought ‘it kinda backfired’, Craig was honest and was duly booed for pointing out the non-existent hip action and the ‘stompy’ feet’, none of which could dull the enthusiasm of a strangely hyperactive Patsy who may wish to reconsider hitting the sherry before next week’s show. The judges were at sixes and sevens until Alesha blurted an 8, giving an undeserved lustre to the score.
“Who’s next?” I asked.
“Kara.”
I didn’t say a word, I’m not stupid.
Taking their traditional early evening spot, Kara and Artem crank up the tension with an injury scare and accompanying tears but the absence of orphans or imperilled kittens rather undermined their sympathy shot. What came next was a bit odd. Their American Smooth was just fantastic – she conveys passion and grace, her arm movements are beautiful, they’re perfectly synchronised and their lifts and dismounts are stylish and elegant – but there are no dance steps. It’s more like a show dance and, surely, anyone can look good if you ignore all the rules? Looks like I’m out on a limb again, though, because the crowd are on their feet and the judges are emoting in universal praise: ‘Seductive, smooth, intense’, said Alesha. I quite agree, but it wasn’t a proper dance. ‘You’re on fire’, she said. Yep, and so’s my hamster, but it wasn’t a proper dance. ‘Inspired and inspiring – a star turn’, said Bruno. Yeah, but what about the ‘no dancing’? ‘Ok, Craig’ll sort her out’, I thought. ‘I quite agree’, he said. Oh, for crying out loud, IT WASN’T A PROPER DANCE! Fortunately, my theatrical flounce was abbreviated by the dulcet tone and sound reasoning of Head Judge Len Goodman. ‘You didn’t take hold once, how can I judge that?’ he asked. He was silenced by the cretins but he had the last word with a glorious 6 between a 9 and two idiotic tens. ‘What did you think, did you like it?’ asked Tess. I was going to ask Hammy but he was busy writing ‘Len’ just above Scott’s name.
What we need now is order. What we get is Matt and Aliona and a sensational Samba that has everything that the first one lacked. With his hips on a spin cycle, he bounces and swivels and finishes with a bunch of eye-popping somersaults that earn him a kiss from Aliona who herself has left no stone unturned by redefining the word ‘costume’ to mean ‘underwear’. Bruno liked his ‘precision bum’ and Craig liked everything, even his thumbs. Len was at least consistent, once again fighting the corner for the purist by grumbling about the ‘flip-flops’ and asking what they have to do with a Samba. Nevertheless, two nines and their first two tens put them firmly at the top of the tree. I kept the ‘better than Kara’ to myself but rather gave the game away by dancing round the sofa so the little blighter was locked and loaded as soon as I sat down.
Vincent’s plan of providing classic interpretations suits Felicity down to the ground and, up to now, it’s been her execution that has fallen short. Not tonight, though, as they deliver a delightful American Smooth with a beautiful first lift and a series of high kicks as the high points. Another high point is that Felicity looks absolutely gorgeous in a spectacular dress that has the cat questioning his commitment to Patsy. The judges were less than euphoric and even though they got their best score of 30, ‘neat’, ‘nice’ and ‘delicate’ didn’t really do justice to their elegant routine.
Gavin starts his American Smooth by miming to Tom Jones while Katya does all the work (in another fabulous dress) then they throw in a wobbly one-armed lift that’s worth it for the look of panic on Kat’s face. Once they’re in hold he looks fine but she needs to re-think the whole ‘leaving him on his own’ thing because his idea of a transition is a brisk walk back to mama which rather saps what little drama he can conjure up. Bruno spotted ‘a couple of mishaps’ that Katya put down to nerves so Craig’s three word summary of ‘lame and lacklustre’ will have dented his confidence even more. Len saw some ‘excellent dancing, presumably on a video he’s got stashed down the side, and Alesha liked the lifts but Craig had already done the damage and his 4 kept the score down to a knee-trembling 27. ‘The boy’s in trouble’, I said. ‘Yep’, she said. Well, I wasn’t expecting that.
With Matt having thrown down the gauntlet, Scott and Natalie have to pick it up with a Samba of their own. The kindest thing to say is that Natalie was quite good but Scotty looks like he’s doing his Rumba on fast forward. He can shake his shoulders all right but the guy’s like an ironing board from the armpits down so I was forced to fall back on my tried and trusted tactic of gritting my teeth and concentrating on Nat’s wiggle. From that point of view it was brilliant. At the end they seem curiously pleased so I gird myself on their behalf only to hear Alesha say ‘that was right up there with the rest of them’. Um, no it wasn’t, unless ‘the rest of them’ includes a floorboard and French stick. It got worse – I know, you didn’t think it could, did you? Bruno said ‘you always perform, you always deliver – great.’ I mean, what? What were they watching? Where were they looking while Scotty planked about like a meerkat in a neck brace? It was left to Craig to dredge up the last vestige of sanity with ‘you tried hard but without success’ and he went on to mark the dance with a 6. Luckily for Scott he has a reputation to fall back on so the rest of them marked that instead, adding 26 more, which gave me an opportunity to make use of my ‘Anglo-Saxon Semaphore’ night class.
I don’t know if she’s struggling with the pace but Pamela starts every dance in a chair these days and her American Smooth is no different. To be fair, she’s up quickly enough and into a witty and elegant routine that includes some beautiful spins and a degree of chemistry between her and James. It also includes a third lift but I feel old fashioned just bringing it up – anyone remember when Brendan was told off for that sort of thing? ‘American frisky’, said Bruno, ‘absolutely beautiful darling’. Craig liked it too but had a pop at her shoulders and Len described it as ‘the best American Smooth of the night’ which only served to get his name underlined – in red. They collected 37, including James’ first ever tens so everyone was happy. Well, almost everyone.
I’ve no idea where to go with this. In the longest 90 seconds of my life I sat, stone-faced and agog as Ann waddled through a Samba, though the Trades Descriptions people may want to step in and have a word. Actually I wasn’t completely stone-faced – I winced a couple of times, started to cry after a minute and made a dash for it just as she raised a leg for Anton to grab. Hammy did his bit to help – repeatedly hitting me in the face with a tennis racquet which dulled the pain somewhat – but the gruesome tedium of forced comedy has worn too thin. The judges don’t know where to go either; ‘overwhelmingly awful’, said Craig and he got the cheer of the night in our house with a single digit score that mirrored my own. She picked up a total of 13 – half that of her nearest competitor, twice what she deserved and it makes you think – I wonder how the goldfish manage to dial.
Sunday 21st November
There’s a searingly hot start to the Results Show from the professional ladies and they’re followed by a Viva Elvis set from Cirque du Soleil which was just brilliant. In between, Kara, Scott and Pamela get to breathe easy while Felicity gets to perspire for a little while longer. Then the show nosedives into the abyss when, first, Ann gets another nod from a public with a seemingly endless appetite for the uber-banal and then I fell asleep and had a nightmare about a stampede in a bagpipe factory. When I woke up, Duffy was on – I’m just saying. In the moment of truth it’s Patsy who sheds the tears but Felicity who gets the push and while she graciously accepts her fate, the undeserving hobble toward the London bus and probably fall over on the way.
Comments
Once again, my strictly week is now complete ..... meanwhile I trust the whole family fW are busily brushing up their gladrags for a Blackpool extravagaza
Cat has had his fur washed and blow dryed and an extra buff and polish of his claws, he is busy sipping extra virgin olive oil for added sheen . And asks your kind permission to accompany Hammy to Blackpool and show him the moves he needs to woo Kara ,
not Sunday/Monday yet.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ycrvNbct1LI
JfW is probably still administering first aid to Hammy after that sight of yellowness on the stage - rather like too much egg yolk with a hint of chicken fluff.
Shame on you, JfW - you should have repaired Hammy's goggles in time.
Usally after the results show
Can`t wait for Hammies comments about Len`s 6 for his fav
We're assuming that Len is still alive.....
Can always send our ninja hammie along as back up
Brilliant - he'd never suspect a hamster.
Maybe better to remove his ninja headband though, it might give the game away.
He's not bad with a sharpened pencil or stick of celery either.
I wonder if he made it onto the plane without mishap! I'm sure Hammy wasn't fooled!
I’m not entirely sure but we may be in Blackpool – I mean, that’s what the sign at the back says but the pro’s are dancing to a song about somewhere else. It’s left to Tess to answer the question and she obliges by pitching up in a shell suit. Vegas it is.
The introductions echo around the vast arena and the scale of the floor underlines the sad reality that the line up is thinning out. Luckily we’ve got Sambas and American Smooths to cheer us up and it’s Patsy and Robin who get the glitter ball rolling with a Copacabana Samba. Well, in truth, the ball doesn’t really roll and it doesn’t really bounce either. Not helped by her trademark leaden feet she plods through the whole thing looking like she’s waiting for Robin’s next instruction. Len started off down a dangerous path by suggesting she’d got ‘onto the wrong trotter’ so it’s one of those rare occasions when I’m relieved to get to Alesha. That’s a feeling that went as quickly as it had arrived; ‘You came out... you captured the feel...you got the party started...’ Is she reading this stuff from a book or what? Bruno applauded her enthusiasm but thought ‘it kinda backfired’, Craig was honest and was duly booed for pointing out the non-existent hip action and the ‘stompy’ feet’, none of which could dull the enthusiasm of a strangely hyperactive Patsy who may wish to reconsider hitting the sherry before next week’s show. The judges were at sixes and sevens until Alesha blurted an 8, giving an undeserved lustre to the score.
“Who’s next?” I asked.
“Kara.”
I didn’t say a word, I’m not stupid.
Taking their traditional early evening spot, Kara and Artem crank up the tension with an injury scare and accompanying tears but the absence of orphans or imperilled kittens rather undermined their sympathy shot. What came next was a bit odd. Their American Smooth was just fantastic – she conveys passion and grace, her arm movements are beautiful, they’re perfectly synchronised and their lifts and dismounts are stylish and elegant – but there are no dance steps. It’s more like a show dance and, surely, anyone can look good if you ignore all the rules? Looks like I’m out on a limb again, though, because the crowd are on their feet and the judges are emoting in universal praise: ‘Seductive, smooth, intense’, said Alesha. I quite agree, but it wasn’t a proper dance. ‘You’re on fire’, she said. Yep, and so’s my hamster, but it wasn’t a proper dance. ‘Inspired and inspiring – a star turn’, said Bruno. Yeah, but what about the ‘no dancing’? ‘Ok, Craig’ll sort her out’, I thought. ‘I quite agree’, he said. Oh, for crying out loud, IT WASN’T A PROPER DANCE! Fortunately, my theatrical flounce was abbreviated by the dulcet tone and sound reasoning of Head Judge Len Goodman. ‘You didn’t take hold once, how can I judge that?’ he asked. He was silenced by the cretins but he had the last word with a glorious 6 between a 9 and two idiotic tens. ‘What did you think, did you like it?’ asked Tess. I was going to ask Hammy but he was busy writing ‘Len’ just above Scott’s name.
What we need now is order. What we get is Matt and Aliona and a sensational Samba that has everything that the first one lacked. With his hips on a spin cycle, he bounces and swivels and finishes with a bunch of eye-popping somersaults that earn him a kiss from Aliona who herself has left no stone unturned by redefining the word ‘costume’ to mean ‘underwear’. Bruno liked his ‘precision bum’ and Craig liked everything, even his thumbs. Len was at least consistent, once again fighting the corner for the purist by grumbling about the ‘flip-flops’ and asking what they have to do with a Samba. Nevertheless, two nines and their first two tens put them firmly at the top of the tree. I kept the ‘better than Kara’ to myself but rather gave the game away by dancing round the sofa so the little blighter was locked and loaded as soon as I sat down.
Vincent’s plan of providing classic interpretations suits Felicity down to the ground and, up to now, it’s been her execution that has fallen short. Not tonight, though, as they deliver a delightful American Smooth with a beautiful first lift and a series of high kicks as the high points. Another high point is that Felicity looks absolutely gorgeous in a spectacular dress that has the cat questioning his commitment to Patsy. The judges were less than euphoric and even though they got their best score of 30, ‘neat’, ‘nice’ and ‘delicate’ didn’t really do justice to their elegant routine.
Gavin starts his American Smooth by miming to Tom Jones while Katya does all the work (in another fabulous dress) then they throw in a wobbly one-armed lift that’s worth it for the look of panic on Kat’s face. Once they’re in hold he looks fine but she needs to re-think the whole ‘leaving him on his own’ thing because his idea of a transition is a brisk walk back to mama which rather saps what little drama he can conjure up. Bruno spotted ‘a couple of mishaps’ that Katya put down to nerves so Craig’s three word summary of ‘lame and lacklustre’ will have dented his confidence even more. Len saw some ‘excellent dancing, presumably on a video he’s got stashed down the side, and Alesha liked the lifts but Craig had already done the damage and his 4 kept the score down to a knee-trembling 27. ‘The boy’s in trouble’, I said. ‘Yep’, she said. Well, I wasn’t expecting that.
With Matt having thrown down the gauntlet, Scott and Natalie have to pick it up with a Samba of their own. The kindest thing to say is that Natalie was quite good but Scotty looks like he’s doing his Rumba on fast forward. He can shake his shoulders all right but the guy’s like an ironing board from the armpits down so I was forced to fall back on my tried and trusted tactic of gritting my teeth and concentrating on Nat’s wiggle. From that point of view it was brilliant. At the end they seem curiously pleased so I gird myself on their behalf only to hear Alesha say ‘that was right up there with the rest of them’. Um, no it wasn’t, unless ‘the rest of them’ includes a floorboard and French stick. It got worse – I know, you didn’t think it could, did you? Bruno said ‘you always perform, you always deliver – great.’ I mean, what? What were they watching? Where were they looking while Scotty planked about like a meerkat in a neck brace? It was left to Craig to dredge up the last vestige of sanity with ‘you tried hard but without success’ and he went on to mark the dance with a 6. Luckily for Scott he has a reputation to fall back on so the rest of them marked that instead, adding 26 more, which gave me an opportunity to make use of my ‘Anglo-Saxon Semaphore’ night class.
I don’t know if she’s struggling with the pace but Pamela starts every dance in a chair these days and her American Smooth is no different. To be fair, she’s up quickly enough and into a witty and elegant routine that includes some beautiful spins and a degree of chemistry between her and James. It also includes a third lift but I feel old fashioned just bringing it up – anyone remember when Brendan was told off for that sort of thing? ‘American frisky’, said Bruno, ‘absolutely beautiful darling’. Craig liked it too but had a pop at her shoulders and Len described it as ‘the best American Smooth of the night’ which only served to get his name underlined – in red. They collected 37, including James’ first ever tens so everyone was happy. Well, almost everyone.
I’ve no idea where to go with this. In the longest 90 seconds of my life I sat, stone-faced and agog as Ann waddled through a Samba, though the Trades Descriptions people may want to step in and have a word. Actually I wasn’t completely stone-faced – I winced a couple of times, started to cry after a minute and made a dash for it just as she raised a leg for Anton to grab. Hammy did his bit to help – repeatedly hitting me in the face with a tennis racquet which dulled the pain somewhat – but the gruesome tedium of forced comedy has worn too thin. The judges don’t know where to go either; ‘overwhelmingly awful’, said Craig and he got the cheer of the night in our house with a single digit score that mirrored my own. She picked up a total of 13 – half that of her nearest competitor, twice what she deserved and it makes you think – I wonder how the goldfish manage to dial.
Sunday 21st November
There’s a searingly hot start to the Results Show from the professional ladies and they’re followed by a Viva Elvis set from Cirque du Soleil which was just brilliant. In between, Kara, Scott and Pamela get to breathe easy while Felicity gets to perspire for a little while longer. Then the show nosedives into the abyss when, first, Ann gets another nod from a public with a seemingly endless appetite for the uber-banal and then I fell asleep and had a nightmare about a stampede in a bagpipe factory. When I woke up, Duffy was on – I’m just saying. In the moment of truth it’s Patsy who sheds the tears but Felicity who gets the push and while she graciously accepts her fate, the undeserving hobble toward the London bus and probably fall over on the way.