I’m watching week two of Strictly Come Dancing. (‘Dancing with the Stars’ if you live on the other side of the pond). The wife watches religiously (she was an Am-Dram queen, took the lead in Carousel, could have been a contender…but became an accountant and it all went wrong from there…)
Anyway all this means I get to watch fat golfers (and this year fat Radio DJ’s, fat entrepreneurs, fat soap stars and not-so-fat supermodels) drag professional Latvian (maybe the odd Ukranian) dancers around a stage somewhere in England, with camp judges telling them how shit they are.
Have to love British TV. It’s the best in world. And I know that’s true, because I read it in the newspapers all the time. (BTW did anyone watch Breaking Bad? That’s the best TV. Ever.)
So. My ’emotional investment’ in Strictly Come Dancing isn’t quite up there with Breaking Bad. (WTF is he talking about you might ask?). It’s TV-speak for ‘is that guy watching the show or is he fading out’. So if ’10’ is ‘he’s glued to the screen’ and ‘1’ is ‘he’s dribbling onto his chin’ then I’d say I’m around a three. Or ‘0’ when Vanessa Feltz is on.
Which gives me plenty of time to reminisce about my Frozen Raspberry and White Chocolate Cheesecake. Another classic from the house of Good Food Magazine. You will need…
Happiness Stan Lives Here 