Strictly Come Dancing.

I am almost always in a cheerful optimistic mood, but the last few weeks I have been on a real downer. No reason I could think of, BG numbers spotonski and enjoying the mild autumnal weather, then it hit me, like a diamond bullet between the eyes, the reason for my suicidal thoughts, Strictly Come Dancing! I believe a similar show runs in the US called Dance with the stars.

My wife is a level headed person (for a woman) (only joking gals) but she goes completely batshit during the Strictly season. One word of negative comment from me can wreck the whole weekend. So, three months of the cadaverous Sir Bruce Forsyth, who proves without doubt, there is life after death, cracking jokes deemed far to poor for even a cheap Christmas cracker. Three months of total bilge from Brucie, that is when he is not too incapacitated to turn up (he missed Saturday’s show) and was replaced by the gruesome Claudia. Our Claudia, a sort of cloned ancient Egyptian dwarf, staggered around on heels so high, she had to be assisted in walking at one point, has less talent than my neighbours cat. But it doesn’t end there.

The celebrity dancers range from knackered out over the hill sports stars, to morbidly obese Z list Celebs, rolling the dice one more time, before checking into either long term rehab or an old peoples home. There is a glimmer of talent and vitality amongst some of the Celebs, I can only think the money was too good to turn down. The professional dancers all seem to come from ex Eastern Block Communist Gulags, I bet some wish they were back in the old country at times. These guys and gals add the sizzle, to the well past its sell by-date, rancid sausage. Cavorting half naked and working hard to avoid what the dross newspapers call ‘a wardrobe malfunction’ the mediocrity is dazzling. On to the judges.

The nice guy roll is played by Len, a sort of cross between Dell boy and a wax works model of err..….Dell boy. He competes with Brucie in the ‘who won’t need next years diary’ competition. Len’s jokes are as pitiful as Brucie’s, and are older than Methuselah. Why the beautiful, and once mega talented ballet dancer, Darcey Bussell has anything to do with this dance macabre show, is beyond me, lots of money I suspect. What a way to end a fantastic career, camping it up with Bruno Tonioli. Now, Bruno I like. He reminds me of Larry Grayson on speed (anyone remember Larry ?) Bruno makes the late Liberace, look like the hard man from the Terminator films by comparison. Leaping from his chair, gushing orgasmic jibber at a hundred miles an hour, it is some spectacle I can tell you, and about as genuine as Brucie’s rug. If they can find a way of connecting Bruno to the National Grid, energy bills may come down.

That leaves Mr. Nasty the Dracula like Craig Revel Horwood. Now, I should like him, he tells it like it is most of the time. When the dancing is crap, (most of the time) and the Celeb looks totally embarrassed, and about to have a heart attack, Craig gets the mob booing by adding to the participants misery, with the truth. Don’t give up the day job darling and find a new botox quack.

That’s Strictly come dancing, and I expect some of them do ! Jeez, do they love themselves. What a waste of licence payers money. This is prime time Saturday night TV in the UK. Beam me up Scotty, send me back on Christmas eve.


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