Strictly Come Dancing 2012 #1: Longing Looks, Bulging Schlongs And Sweaty Gussets

The dance fest of z-listers, sexual innuendoes and judges arguments is back. Here's what we thought to the first episode of this sequinned extravaganza...
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The dance fest of z-listers, sexual innuendoes and judges arguments is back. Here's what we thought to the first episode of this sequinned extravaganza...

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I have been preparing for Strictly with the dedication of a Girl Guide who lives for camping holidays and pocket inspections, knowing she’s going to remain a virgin for the next nine years. I have Sainsbury’s Taste the Difference prosecco and a bottle of shiraz (“providence unknown”). I have watched a Simpsons double bill in order to relax my face for laughter and joy. I am even wearing my special sequinned jumper, as a gesture of solidarity to all the sparkly, glittery contestants. Also, I like to wear my sequinned jumper whenever it isn’t in the wash, as it has a motif of one rabbit fellating another rabbit.

The thing I should have done and the thing I forgot to do is research the contestants. Google tells me Kimberly Walsh wasn’t in Girls Aloud. That girl from Emmerdale has a new fringe, and it’s a more effective identity obscurer than any Witness Protection Programme. WHO IS NICKY BURNE? Is Nicky Burne the chick or the dude in the couple? Perhaps both! Damn, I’m thinking of Pete Burns...

Luckily, as soon as Kimberly Walsh comes down the stairs I remember that she’s “the one from the pussycat dolls with the tits”. She’s a cartoon-hot miracle of secondary sexual engineering and hairspray. Tess announces “we are piling on the celebs this year” - I hope she means that instead of dancing, there’s going to be a giant bundling session in the middle of the studio. It would give Brucie a chance to embed his dentures into Craig’s derriere, hissing “you don’t get anything for a pair, not in this game, you bitter old queen.”

But no. The boring old producers are sticking to the theme of dancing and the the first celebrity dancers are lovely Fearne Britton and Artem. “This is much harder than I thought it was going to be!” giggles Fearne in the training montage. Is this code for “we are doing
Shirley Valentine schlonging and too busy with sexy fun for working on the routines”? I hope so. They are cha cha cha-ing to Signed, Sealed, Delivered in matching mauve - Artem’s bright purple waistcoat looks just like the one worn by Abu the monkey when Aladdin wishes himself into a prince.

“You wafted your skirt a lot” he points out. Fearne smiles sweetly and agrees, instead of shouting “MY VAGINA WAS STREAMING, BITCH.”

It’s a strong routine, slightly marred by Fearne’s signature wiggle’n’waft. Any lady will recognise this as the move you must pull when you’ve been dancing for three hours on the trot and your sweaty crotch is in desperate need of some ventilation. You disguise “sorting yourself out” as “a sexy move”, and you’re good ‘til dawn. However, there’s no fooling Len. “You wafted your skirt a lot” he points out. Fearne smiles sweetly and agrees, instead of shouting “MY VAGINA WAS STREAMING, BITCH.”

It’s worth pointing out that this year the judging panel looks like the mortgage application approval squad from the Bank of Creepy - Sexy. Darcey Bussel is bringing the sexy - the boys either look wind tunnel alarmed, or embalmed. Twitter is full of people slagging Darcey off for saying “yah”, but if you can’t laugh at someone repeatedly saying “cha cha cha, yah?” you’re obviously very mature and boring.

The pair get a respectable 19, and wander off to chat to Tess Daly. Tess looks blonde and glam and gorgeous, but she’s standing stock still with her legs akimbo and a slightly panicked facial expression, as if she thinks she might have unexpectedly and dramatically
started her period on live, national telly and doesn’t want to make any sudden movements. Does she spend much time with Holly Willoughby? If their menses sync it would be a disaster for prime time telly schedules.

Now it’s time for Nicky Burne! He’s a dude! He was in Westlife! I’m assuming he won’t have a routine, as such - he’ll just sit on a chair in the middle of the stage and stand up three quarters of the way through. But he’s working with new lady Karen Hauer, who seems so dedicated to music and movement that I suspect she sleeps standing up, strapped into a robot conga line. In rehearsals, Karen makes Nicky look like a bit of a div, and he’s seen shaking his head muttering “but she’s never even been to Ireland”, as if the dancing in New York and Venezuela is a bit shabby and she’s going to need a tubby ‘housewives favourite’ ex boybander to show her how it’s done.

Karen looks beautiful - a little bit Lola the Showgirl if Lola was smuggling the world’s biggest bog roll up her frock. Unfortunately Nicky is dragging her around the stage as if he’s just killed her and he’s dragging her home to feed to his family. There’s an impressive, illegal lift, which angers Craig. “One foot should remain on the floor AT ALL TIMES,” he chunters. Is that because of the old school movie rule, where if feet aren’t visible it’s assumed that some highly immoral schtupping is happening? Or has Craig got confused with snooker again? They’ve definitely ballsed it up, scoring 17. (I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.)

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Cricketer Michael Vaughn is next, with Natalie. He’s doing some wedding quality Dad dancing, and looks less like he’s sweeping her away with romance and more like he’s on a mission to make her throw up her jelly and ice cream. Darcey warns Michael not to “get
stiff on us” - it might be my imagination but I think Bruno looked a little disappointed. Bruno tells Michael he looked “like Shane Warne after the make over” and that his arse is “sticking out like a hanging basket” like that’s a bad thing. Surely this is the highest
accolade of arse? I’m happy if I can get mine to stick out like two B&Q budget plant pots. But I’m grateful to Bruno for inventing a new expression for bum - “bush or basket” is a nice, subtle way of asking people about their sexual preference.

It’s time for Victoria Pendleton, who is so bloody brilliant and Olympic-alicious that she could probably get full marks for shitting into an egg cup and feeding it to Bruce with a tea spoon. Even though she’s got a face full of Heath Ledger-esque make up and is wearing
a worrying fuschia hareem pant split side jump suit. I bet it fastens with VELO-CRO! (I’m sorry. Well, ’d like to be sorry.)

Sadly, Victoria and her partner Shinyface Shinerson are so afraid to get near each other that they move like two people who are legally required to attend an anti sexual harassment conference and dinner dance. There’s an ‘hilarious’ awkward pavement shuffle moment, and a bit when Victoria slaps her arse as if she’s trying to dislodge a thong so that she can apply some Preparation H. Poor old Victoria gets 16 and has a cry.

She will kick ass next time - the only thing she needs to worry about is getting the mascara off her chin.

Now it’s time for Colin Salmon, who is looking louche in a leopard print bed jacket and dances with Christina as if he’d like to swallow her whole. If those two weren’t on Strictly, they’d be tearing up the floor in their nearest branch of Oceana as a matter of necessity.
And they’d blow everyone’s minds. The clientele would vomit in the toilets instead of the floor as a mark of respect.

Just as I have to stick my flushed face out of the window and light a fag, Colin presents Christina with a martini glass, and there’s a close   up of Bruce drinking from a mug with his own face on it. His expression on the mug is identical to his live expression. I press the red button really hard, hoping you can see a tiny picture of his mug on the mug, featuring another tiny Bruce holding an even tinier mug...and...actually, this is a good idea. Cocoa drinking Russian Dolls of Bruce Forsyth, for the Christmas gift market. If only I had
somewhere to write it down - Smiths keeps selling out of Pukka Pads. Colin and Christina get 23 points, and possibly a sexy Brucie bonus.

She will kick ass next time - the only thing she needs to worry about is getting the mascara off her chin.

Denise Van Outen is next, and looks cheery - as if she got lucky and happened to be grinning her face off when the wind changed. She’s worried that her “naughty streak is going to come out” - has she not secured it with Spanx and tit tape? Her frock is good, but I’m not sure about the giant wrist hankies. Perhaps being a nineties lad’s mag pin up means that you’re required to carry something absorbent with you at all times for health and safety reasons. She’s very good, but I get distracted after Bruno tells her “your friend
could be better, sometimes he’s going down” and I’m swept away in a current of MEGA SEX LOL.

I get a bit lost because Sky + is annoyed that I’m trying to watch Strictly and record ELO and “does a mardy”, but apparently Jerry Hall, who will be dancing tomorrow. explains “not all fillies give a smooth ride the first time out”. It sounds a little bit sexist, but then again, as a former shagger of Mick Jagger, she’s excellent by association and entitled to the last word.

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