Gleb's showdance:
Dry ice swirls. The opening chords of "I Am The One and Only" swell majestically, though not as majestically as Gleb's heart at the sight of himself clad only in leather shorts reflected in the fifteen mirrors strategically placed around the dance floor.
Through the smoke he emerges...slowly, on all fours, like the pinnacle of evolution casting the ooze from the primal swamp from his feet. And there he remains, writhing, caressing the floor, undulating his body across its scuffed and hallowed boards. Never before were dancer and dance floor welded together in such symmetry, such symbiosis. Women in the first three rows faint clean away as Gleb Special is followed by Gleb Even More Special and Gleb So Special It's Banned In Sixteen Countries.
And then, with a final frenzied Flying Teabag at his own myriad reflections, it is over. He lies, panting, absorbing the crescendo of applause. Fire crews around Elstree are mobilised. Tess rings Vernon and tells him she is divorcing him. All the pros start spontaneously speaking Russian. Bruno has an unfortunate accident under the desk. Darcey's mascara streams down her face as she stabs her scoring pad screaming "why doesn't this go up to twenty???" Len's face turns a peculiar colour as his walnuts finally pickle themselves.
Gleb rises and approaches the judges. After some moments, only Craig is capable of speech.
"That was uh-may-zing dahling, although for me it lacked drama. Just one question...where's Anita?"
Gleb's brows furrow, as if trying to recall a distant memory.
"Anita?"