Strictly Speaking Frankie and Pixie are not Amateurs

It was a Saturday night when Pixie and Frankie turned pro and Judy Murray did a Charleston that might not have been ‘oarsome’ but it was great fun.

Read all about it by Viennese Waltzing this way :


Strictly gave good lips and gums this week.

Scott Mills has lips that would out pout Katie Price and Pixie and Trent should get a pale pink glitterball trophy for having the best gums of all the 2014 contestants.

Tango this way for my summary of last night’s show and I predict that Cant-Win-Tim is next out…

Strictly Goes T’Pictures

It was movie week on Strictly and there was a whole lot more corn than pop going on.

For my full round up please quickstep this way…….

Spider Feet

Being too sexy for my slippers I wear pink patent Birkenstocks around the house in the summer months and a pair of Celtic sheepskin boots in winter.

Changeover day was yesterday because it was coooold.

So I reached into the back of my wardrobe and hauled out the boots and put them on. I was thinking about what a lovely long Summer it’s been and …and ……that I had forgotten just how tickly the sheepskin lining of the boots was compared to the open air peace and love vibe of my sandals.

Then a siren went off in my brain and I kicked the left boot off so hard and fast it flew into the air and landed on my bed and out crawled a dazed and confused mega spider. The booger was the size of my hand. Make that my jazz hand.

Screaming the house down I used my Kindle and a hairbrush to lift him up and launch him out of the window. That is how my Kindle became embedded in a geranium pot and my good Denman brush is somewhere on next door’s patio.

The boots are now upside down on the kitchen table under surveillance. I got Mr Anna May to do a fingertip search and take photographs of the insides with his mobile while I looked up on the internet whether spiders lay eggs in sheepskin and if anyone has actually ever died of fright.

My Strictly Blog Has Moved House

I am as excited as Greg Wallace at pudding time. The Daily Express are publishing my Strictly Blog. But please don’t desert me. Why not quickstep over here and have a read:


Cheryl Tweedy-Cole-Fernandez-Versini has a new single, and her snatch, out. Look, see:

That first photo should be captioned, “Nurse pet, Ahm propa reddy for me smear,like !”

Strictly Happy – George Sad

It’s going to be a VINTAGE Strictly year. The first shows were so good that fora nanosecond I stopped grieving about this being the weekend when George Clooney marries divine international human rights lawyer, and wearer of big earrings, Amal Alamuddin.

Let’s romp through the dances in no particular order. No, stuff that, let start with the ones that made me laugh most:

Humpty Dumpty Greg clearly makes Aliona want to throw up. After just one week he is almost a dead cert for the 2014 Fiona Phillips Dance Like A Fridge Freezer Award. Maybe he should wear his glasses so he can see what his feet are doing? Just a thought…..

Be ready to be surprised – Judy Murray is SCOTTISH – a pair of haggis earrings for her would have made that crystal clear to viewers. Just in case the tartan, the bagpipes and the Mull of Kintyre hints didn’t help.

The dances that made me smile the most:

Alison Hammond for her joyousness, her rhythm, her bounce and her confidence and for not once, in what she said or did, apologising for being fat.

Jennifer Gibney who felt the fear and did it anyway with a huge grin on her face. Although she did dance like a woman with a live mouse stuck to her shoe.

As for the rest, Steve Backwhowhat? danced mostly with his face and someone break it to Ola that she dressed up a month early for Halloween.

According to the papers Thom Evans and Iveta are already doing a spot of horizontal dancing in their own time. Just imagine what big browed babies they would have.

Who knew Yorrick could dance? Alas I got it wrong last week and said Jake Wood was rubbish. I didn’t knew him well. Sorry..

Mark Wright was just Alwright and needs to learn to look ecstatic even if he gets scored four 1’s.

Scott Mills needs to stop looking like Chucky so I can concentrate on his dancing.

The wardrobe department obvs got a good price on a job lot of sparkly vests for the blokes. And whoever designed and fitted Jeanette’s sabotage dress wants to bed her partner Alijaz. It was GRUESOME.

And Darcey was looking positively Angela Ripponesque. Ditch the helmet hair dahhhlinhg, yah?

I LOATHE it when Claudia and Tess talk in unison. Male presenters would never do that.

And I’m starting to dislike the newly liberated from Bruce Tess, a lot, and it’s only Week One. The woman’s jiving on his telly grave. And I bet she says “I’m my favourite!” before she goes to sleep every night.

Hurry Up already next week.

Tesco and Tickles

Lawdy. I have just called the customer service number for Tesco Car Insurance and got the usual automated reply.

Only it wasn’t usual at all. The woman in the recording sounded so jolly it was like she’d just sucked in a alotalot of laughing gas and someone was tickling her as she read her script.

Happy doesn’t even begin to describe her near hysteria as she advises which buttons to press.

After yesterday’s news about profits and twiddly diddly dealings and crashing market values I’m guessing she’s not a shareholder.

Swapping Spit

When this country next has another woman Prime Minister, or Leader of the Opposition, will it still be obligatory at party conference time for them to have a staged snog?

Watching Justine and Ed lock skinny wet lips today after his keynote speech reminded me of the time I had to get rid of a slug on my patio and there was a sticky, suckering moment.

A wave, a wink, a thumbs up, a booty shake, making a heart shape with their forefingers and thumbs – surely anything would be better than swapping spit for the cameras?


Last night at the theatre I sat next to a woman (straggly blonde, crochet waistcoat,fringed skirt 1960’s reject) who put her heels up on the back of the seat in front of her and with her toes repeatedly tapped the grey curls of the bloke sat there.
It took him about a minute to turn around, I was amazazed by his forbearance. If a stranger placed her toenails on my scalp I would have sprung into action faster than that.
What a gent. He whispered “Would you mind?”
So she slid her feet down about eight inches and hooked them, monkey style, over the back of his seat.This meant that her big toes were pressing into his shoulder blades.
I waited for him to take off one of his shoes and bang it down on her feet in a frenzied resonse to her space invasion. He didn’t.
The play, True West at The Tricycle, couldn’t begin to compete with the toegate drama in the stalls.