Anton or Vincent?
Tuesday 8th November 2011
Inspired by a blog called ‘Why Miss Jones’ (
http://whymissjones.blogspot.com/) I am going to talk about a subject that is close to my heart: Strictly Come Dancing. If any of my US readers are looking, this is called Dancing With The Stars in America. More specifically, isn’t it high time a knitter was featured, mmm? No. Not me! Someone really famous like Kaffe, maybe. Imagine the pent-up voting potential for one thing. There must be eleventy-million of us knitters, furiously knitting away on a Saturday and Sunday night – nothing too complicated as the tension is really starting to rise at this point in the competition and my tension, literally, goes to pot at crucial SCD moments.
I’m about 5ft 4andabit tall. So I am never sure who they’d pair me with. (Oh, really? please don’t say it’s only me who wonders: if I was on SCD, who would my partner be…?) I think they’d save Vincent for someone lucky and really short, I am medium so I think I might get Pasha, or Robin or maybe Anton. Poor Anton always seems to get the ‘comedy’ value partner so I’d fit in there and he seems funny and kind (plus I loved it that, allegedly, his real name is Tony Beak or something, I really hope it is and power to him I say!) Also, I think Anton might be more willing to accept frequent knitting-breaks and even the idea of knitting beads and sequins into our own costumes, than, say, Brendan. I can’t imagine that, really. Me: Brendan, what do you think about us knitting a little sequined bolero for your Passo…?
The chief drawback (I am going to overlook my lack of celebrity status and overpowering resistance to leaving Somerset) is my lack of dancing ability. I
like dancing, Lily will attest to that when she finds me, usually in my running gear, jiggling about in the kitchen, headphones still in, after a run. This habit has, it seems now reached crisis proportions for Lily who asked me last weekend, because a friend was coming over to *help her with some maths homework* to ‘please mum, act normal.’
Wounded silence.
But I can’t remember the steps. This is also a problem in the dance-based gym classes I attempted, such as Body Jam. Ever tried that? It’s amazing and I strongly suspect it’d be great fun, but it’s really hard for someone like me who has the dance-memory-retention of a fruit fly and can only turn right. No, really, to turn left I have to be physically
moved by someone else. I have overcome this problem in my favourite gym class, Body Combat, by rigorous training and a lovely, understanding instructor, who only smiles when I rotate to the right again and again…
Anyway, let’s face it, the things about SCD – for me anyway – that make it more addictive than Kidsilk Haze, Nandos or Chocolate Guinness cake are the costumes and make-up. I want all those dresses! (not so much the cat-suits), I want the shoes and the head-dresses and the 3 inch long glitter-feather fake eye-lashes! I do sometimes actually think that as I get older, my wardrobe will come to resemble a dressing-up box. In fact, Mark said to me the other day: you look like you got dressed out of the charity box and just put on the first 4 things that fitted. Now in my defence, I had been running that morning, in long running tights and a sleeveless top. When I got back, I didn’t want to get showered and changed as 1) I am experimenting with Compression Wear, of which more later, you have been warned, and you have to leave it on for a bit after a run; and 2) I was planning some apple/garden wrangling so I thought I’d just get showered and back to ‘normal’ after that. Anyway, I then remembered, as I heard his voice in the kitchen, that Lily’s *maths tutor friend from her class in school* was coming over. I thought she’d/they’d be embarrassed if I was introduced wearing the compression leggings, day-glow running shoes, which are quite big and my legs are quite thin, think Minny Mouse – and a singlet. SO, I grabbed a baggy jumper and a pair of pink Nike running shorts to go on top of the tights. In the nano-seconds that I had, it was the best I could do. Epic Fail. Lily said (cringing and looking at the shorts): Luke, this –
THIS – is my mum; mumthisisluke…and legged it, with Luke, into the sitting room. Then Mark got home from work and I told you what he said.
Two weeks ago on SCD there was a wardrobe incident when Chelsee’s dress kind of gave way – the top part of the dress. Frankly, right from the start of the programme, I thought and commented to Lily, my SCD addicted partner, that there was no way that dress was gonna man-up to the job of retaining Chelsee unless Pasha had choreographed a very sedate walk. Chelsee is a talented dancer and it was an energetic dance, but bless her heart, when she thought she had revealed part of her anatomy on national TV, she really cried.
Poor girl, I felt so sorry for her, and in fact, I don’t think it was that ‘revealing’, but anyway, I have advised her (‘cos I bet they
love getting wardrobe advice from folks like me!) to opt for compression wear! This is my new running/cycling wear. I’m a sucker for a new bit of running kit, and this is the Way Forward. There is simply no way any part of your anatomy is ever getting out of compression wear, even, sometimes, when you want and need to get it out. I got mine – a top and leggings – a few weeks ago and having literally fought my way into the top, suddenly had a real moment of panic, when I really did think: I can’t get this off! Choices: 1) CUT it off, thus wasting £35. 2) wear it until help arrived. This would be Lily, getting in at 3.45 from the school bus. Whilst this would have provided a brief moment of actual lollage, I also thought it might scar her. And also, after a bit, I was starting to lose the heat and then the actual feeling in my arms and hands… 3) enter into a to-the-death struggle with it. I chose 3. Now, after wearing this stuff a few times, I have established entry and exit strategies. Getting the top and the leggings on or off is in itself a workout and also something that I couldn’t possibly do in public, say the gym changing room. The writhing and the thrashing….however, should the SCD call ever come, I will suggest that I am allowed – even required – to base my costumes on it, because in this way, no-one gets hurt and everything stays where it started, other than my feet, of course, and there is no cure for that affliction. Not even Anton.
It isn’t only you that wonders about who they would be paired with in the unlikely event of taking part in the tv spectacular that is Strictly. My favourite male dancer is Ian Waite. He’s not in it anymore, but I think he would be the right height for me (I’m 5ft 9). Also he is not too strict (yes I’m talking about you Brendon and James) and seems nice and encouraging. I do like Anton, but while I might fit his usual rubbish at dancing type, I think I am too young for him. I’m probably not, but he does seem to get all the older ladies. I may also get annoyed by his tie flapping about while we are rehearsing. I would definitely be distracted by Artem’s teeth, so he wouldn’t be an option. The other problem is that I am really not keen on wearing dresses. Or make-up that has been put on with a trowel. Or fake tan. Or sequins.
I know! (tie flappage + Anton issues).
Yes, Artem’s teeth have now got their own show, I heard tonight.
Ian was so lovely – where has he gone? and Matthew? he is/was tall and really super, too.
Other than that – and the thing with the dresses…and the make-up…and the fake tan (but I’m with you there!)you’re a cert! well, see you in the finals!
PS: ah, the sequins – they are mandatory, sorry…
Putting my hand up as another candidate for the Strictly Wannabes Support Group! I’d be hoping that if there were ever a series where they decided to ditch the “celebs” and go for normal folk as contestants that they would pair me with Ian Waite (although I do hope I’m not taller than him…maybe I would be in heels…). BBC please take note that I really can’t wear a catsuit or any other barely-there type arrangement consisting of a couple of sparkly hankerchiefs held together with sparkly string, so I would only be available to dance elegant numbers such as the quickstep and foxtrot in a suitably glorious floaty dress (preferably in pink or white). I also refuse to rumba, on the grounds of it being downright embarrassing. And probably no lifts. That’s all really…