Take your partners...

At the start of another season of Strictly Come Dancing, I should mention that I am once again thankful that it's no longer scheduled against The X Factor. What a wonderful world we live in that fans of manipulative reality TV formats can enjoy a bumper Saturday night of carefully orchestrated plastic emotion with no awkward clashes. And I no longer have to feel like I'm choosing Cliff Richard over Elvis as I tell TV hipsters that I watched Strictly Come Dancing and haven't yet managed to catch up with X Factor. All this is a weight off my mind, I don't mind telling you. Now I can get on with ironing out the finer details of world peace.

So this is me reflecting on the Strictly Come Dancing pair-up show, where the celebrities discover which professional dancer's body odour will soon be as familiar to them as their favourite song. This episode is the essence of showbusiness perfectly distilled, as people mask the crushing disappointment at the identity of their new partner by showing the world the effectiveness of their teeth whitening programme; glowing through the despair, praying for the time when they can go back to their dressing room and drink fake tan and sequin glue until they lose consciousness and the pain is over.

I'm here to run down this year's contestants, but I can't really begin without saying this: Tess Daly used to be a model. She is in great shape. So why she is apparently so hard to dress? A daffodil coloured jumpsuit is a friend to no one, not even the member of Pan's People who last wore Tess's get-up in the 1970s – and whose cupsize was apparently quite different. Top marks for thrift, the Beeb.

The first contestant to meet their new partner is lion-haired Robbie Savage. He lines up opposite the seven female pros, who are all wearing variations on the same dress. It's Seven Brides For Seven Brothers in sequins. I say that. I've never seen Seven Brides For Seven Brothers. Anyway, he lucks out by getting Ola. Join me, readers, over the coming weeks as we embark on a quest for Robbie Savage's redeeming features. I'm excited.

Last series, US pro Katya was tasked with animating Gavin Henson. This year, her experiments in human galvanisation continue with a new specimen, Daybreak's Dan Lobb. Tall and Next-catalogue handsome, can she transform him from lurching, late-thirties Ken doll into rubber-hipped dancefloor dynamo? Will he be Mark Foster or will he be Gethin Jones, is what I'm saying. Judging by the first group dance, it could be Foster, but I like Dan, and he has the grace to look a little sheepish about this whole matchmaking hoopla. I suspect Katya will have called in the acting coach by week 6, if they get that far.

Harry from McFly gets flame-haired choreographic delusionist Aliona. I'm not saying she lost the title for Matt Baker last year but I've heard that Kara Tointon still sends her flowers once a week. Harry won a one-dance Strictly special for Children In Need last year with Ola, and I must assume the BBC have paired him with Aliona to avoid accusations that he has an unfair advantage. Harry seems lukewarm. 'She's such a great dancer,' Bruce says to Harry encouragingly. 'Sure,' says Harry. 'They're all amazing. ESPECIALLY OLA. WHY AREN'T I WITH OLA? SHOW ME MY CONTRACT. I WANT OLA.' He communicates the last bit by telepathy. I am psychically very gifted.

Anita Dobson is possibly the most excited celebrity on the show. She and new partner Robin look so pleased to see each other, for a moment I feel like I'm watching Surprise Surprise. Robin was ever so nice to Patsy Kensit last year, so I'm pleased for Anita. An anxious-looking Brian May is in the audience, one seat for him, one either side for his hair. I hope that Brian is now taking this extremely seriously, and wiping over videos of Queen on Live Aid with tonight's first celebrity group dance, in order to pick apart Anita's competition. Anita is the kind of older lady I can imagine being friends with. Maybe we'd meet at work or at a book group, and then I'd end up going round to the Dobson-Mays' house for home-cooked lasagne and a lengthy explanation of Brian's guitar collection.

Chelsee Healey, from Waterloo Road, is single, although you'd never know as she hardly mentions it at all. From her VT we can surmise that she is A RIGHT LAUGH and A BIT MAD. Also, BUBBLY. She gets new dancer Pasha, who I believe we are meant to get all kinds of excited about, but for me, so far, he is two parts Jeremy Edwards and three parts Chico from The X Factor. At this stage, we applaud the BBC's policy of investing young trainees with genuine responsibility on high-profile shows. The director of photography is clearly a 14-year-old boy who's positioned a camera at precisely the right point on the stairs to capture maximum chest jigglage from the female contestants.

Lulu looks terrified to be paired with Brendan. Well, I think that's what her face is saying. He reacts to this by putting her over his shoulder and carrying her up the stairs. That's the way to win her over, Brendan. Women of a certain age love to be held upside down on television with their underwear exposed to the nation. Luckily, Lulu has the presence of mind to yank her skirt down to cover her modesty. These are the kind of smarts you learn during 40 years in showbiz.

I'm concerned about Jason Donovan. I want him to do well, but when he earnestly reveals one of his mantras - 'Fail to prepare, prepare to fail' - my heart sinks. Please don't let him be 2011's Craig Kelly - which is to say, 'I'm trying so hard to be awesome. Why aren't I awesome?' He's paired with Kristina, who looks ecstatic at drawing someone who a) can move at a greater speed than 'gentle amble' and b) is genuinely held in affection by the GBP. Although, saying that, I tried to persuade some of my oldest friends to join me in a karaoke take on Especially For You recently, and the response was not purely enthusiastic.

Rory Bremner gets Erin Boag – no surprise there. You would reasonably expect Rory to be pulling out impressions of the judges at every opportunity, but when it comes to ludicrous caricatured versions of Len and Bruno, it would be hard to beat their own performance in the last series. Ooh! A little bit of Strictly politics! At this point, I think I would like Rory to do well, but I am fickle.

Having won an Olympic gold medal, Audley Harrison probably thought he knew quite a lot about the will to win – until he met his professional partner Natalie Lowe, who makes Sally Pearson looks like she lacks a little focus. They are paired together on account of their enormo height, so if 6ft 6in Audley fails to find his inner Fred Astaire and is ejected early, perhaps they could fill their days playing basketball together, provided, of course, that Audley lets Natalie win.

Flavia is paired with Russell Grant. If she ends up dating this partner too, I think we can say that her feminine wiles are so phenomenally powerful we should be harnessing them as a natural energy source. Russell is being painted as the loser of the bunch, and also being made to wear a lot of velvet. Inhumanity upon inhumanity. I hope he turns out to be amazing. Come on, Russell!

Alex Jones gets James Jordan. I think I like Alex. She seems like a laugh. Also, she is a Jones, which is awesome, whichever way you slice it.

In a baffling tease that achieves nothing other than to make everyone feel massively uncomfortable, we are led to believe that Edwina Currie might be paired with Artem. Edwina is practically drooling. I'm not sure it's right that Strictly is scheduled before Doctor Who, because some children could be watching this and it's pretty icky.

He actually ends up with Holly Valance, which is all about their physical compatibility for dancing, of course, and not at all some clumsy attempt to create a love triangle between Holly, Artem and Kara Tointon. For Holly, a lot is at stake in this series. By Christmas, if she plays her cards right (ha!), she could be playing a sexy Australian doctor who arrives to shake up the staff of Holby City. Or even Casualty! In the meantime, she should watch out for Edwina haunting the corridors and dressing rooms like Sylvester Sneekley. 'Remember, Valance, Artem was my partner first. I TOUCHED HIM FIRST.'

Nancy Dell'Olio, meanwhile, thinks she's the most famous Italian in the UK, apart from Sophia Loren. Somewhere, over a large plate of pasta, Pavarotti is having a right laugh about that. She gets Anton, but clearly would much prefer Vincent. It's business as usual for Strictly warhorse Anton. New haircut, same old jokes and, I suspect, another early exit.

That leaves my beloved Vincent to dance with Edwina. There are no words. Apart from it looks like he and Flavia may have a tour booked in for November and December.

An open letter to Steven Moffat in which I outline some ideas for Doctor Who monsters, which occurred to me during a recent holiday in Yorkshire

Dear Steven/Mr Moffat/'Moff'

Congratulations on your recent output of high-quality drama. You are a hell of a guy. But, it seems to me, a busy one. Really, it must be all go. Why not relax a little? Take some 'you time'. Put on a pair of comfy slippers and flick through that Bafta awards souvenir programme with a Cadbury's Options while I do some work for you.

First, a small moment of personal regret. I think it's important we can be honest with each other. While I was thrilled to see Kenny from Press Gang cast in the recent piratical episode of Doctor Who, I must confess I was disappointed not to see Julia Sawalha, aka Lynda Day, editor of the Junior Gazette, cast in the role of the ship's captain – thus denying the world a small fraction of the Press Gang reunion we have been waiting the best part of 20 years for. But I'll forgive you, because a) you didn't actually write that episode, even though you are Da Boss (that's a passing Press Gang reference, which you would obviously get), and b) you must have a lot on your mind.

Anyway. That's enough nostalgia. Let's get to the monsters. Which is like something Doctor Who would actually say. You can have that line for free, if you like.

Monster No 1) Everything's getting smaller these days – Pizza Express pizzas, Wagon Wheels, the number of crisps in a bag of Walkers – right? WRONG. Not everything. Yorkshire puddings are getting bigger. Gastro pubs seem intent on proving their credentials not just in terms of how artfully crumpled their leather sofas are, or how quirkily vintage-looking the wallpaper in the toilets is, but also how ludicrously large their Yorkshire puddings are. I often feel that if you removed a section of one to fit your face through, you could wear it on your head as some kind of officially recognised protective headgear for amateur boxing.

I confess I am often intimidated by the size of the trimmings that come with my Sunday lunch. I am suggesting that, in Who world, the traditional Yorkshire pudding could be an amorphous, beast of batter that terrorises families as they sit together at the table for their only meal together of the week and torments groups of friends catching up over a pub lunch. It sits silently on their plates, modest in size at first, but gradually growing fatter and more powerful as it feeds off their love and companionship and community until they are hollow, grey and slumped.

It might have tiny mean eyes and an angry, gaping mouth like this:

Monster No 2) Perhaps, like me, you are a sensitive and delicate individual who finds it difficult to sleep in an unfamiliar place. If so, you are probably used to this kind of sight:

The darkness of the foreign bedroom, and the LED alarm clock with its messages of the minutes and hours creeping past in which you are not having delicious restorative slumber. In your head, you perform arithmetic to determine the diminishing amount of time that remains until you must face down a cooked breakfast and tell your host how incredibly well you slept, yes, like an absolute log, thanks.

But what if, through the night, your LED alarm clock is sending you a different kind of message every time you open your eyes. Something like this:

(Apologies for the ropey, wobbly-handed Photoshop.)

Maybe you think your eyes are deceiving you – it's dark, you're tired, maybe you're dreaming. And in reality you're massively short-sighted so all you would actually see would be a soft orange blur. You put your head back down on the pillow and close your eyes. But you feel very strongly that you must open them a second later. And then you see this:

This is ludicrous. You turn over. Pull up the duvet. But you can't help turning back.

Surely turning on the light will solve all this. You get out of bed. You can't find the light switch. You trip over your splayed-open suitcase. Now your foot really, really hurts. You look back at the clock.

Who is trapped inside the alarm clock? The ghost of B&B residents past? And what happened to them? Were they somehow exterminated by demonically overbearing landladies force-feeding them sausages and black pudding before 9am?

Monster No 3) We've established above that the dark can be a bad place. A dangerous place. So you can rely on the light, then? To bring comfort and clarity? To remind you that this is just a cosy room in a bed and breakfast in a small, charming Yorkshire town? Not so much when the light fittings are GIANT SPIDERS descending on silken ropes towards your FACE.

Taking care of business

So listen. I know no one can actually remember the Strictly Come Dancing final now, but I don't like to leave a job half done. You've been busy, I've been busy - principally catching trains and helping seven-year-olds break the world record for star jumps (awaiting official ratification), but let's rewind the last four days or so and pretend the red-hot sequin-and-fake-tan action has only just happened.

This series on Strictly, we've seen a whole lot more editorialising. That's what I'm calling it. You may call it gimmicky theming. That's your business. Personally, I like gimmicks. And I like theming. Things I don't like are polonecks and rumbas, which makes the next few hours' viewing a little trying in places

Under the producers' 'Hey team, let's get creative' brief, the show begins with a film on how Strictly fever has supposedly gripped the nation - which may constitute some kind of Christmas wish on the part of the BBC - before the studio fun kicks off with a boxing-themed pro-dance to Eye Of The Tiger and the contestants come on in dressing gowns. As the male dancers enter, shadow-boxing, I can't help but notice that a) little Vincent looks like one of the other blokes' younger brothers who's desperate to keep up with the big boys and b) 'doing sexy' isn't foremost in Anton's skill set. Waltzing yes. Ironing, hell yes. But unbridled, sneering passion? Erm...

So the first of the four dances each couple will perform tonight is their highest-scoring so far. So a repeat, basically. Swizz. The key points to note are:

* An extreme close-up of Matt's samba-ing arse, which prompts quite the discussion in my living room. I should point out there are other people in the room. I am not having a discussion with myself about Matt Baker's arse - although I'm not ruling it out.

* Tonight, the title is basically Matt's for Aliona to throw away. Were her choreography less bonkers, I firmly believe that his wholesome, blandly handsome, BBC-boy persona (voting turn-on - cf Hollins and Chambers) would prove more powerful than his naked ambition (voting turn-off - cf Healey and Logan, G).
* In Kara and Artem's training video, Kara is unable to talk about Artem without starting to cry. In a good way. Major vote-winner!

* Kara and Artem redancing a rumba is better than most people redancing a rumba.

* Artem is virtually crying at the end of the dance. Jesus, man up, you two. You've got the next two-and-a-half hours to get through.

*A discussion ensues on the sexiness - rightly or wrongly - of the crying man. Again, not just me.
* Pamela and James don't often get things wrong. But they don't often get me excited.

All this is just so many amuse bouches before we get to the main course of the final.

The Showdances! The Showdances are here! Hey, hey, it's the Showdances! Welcome To The Pleasuredome (of Showdances)!

First up, Matt and Aliona. Oh god, oh god, oh god. They've gone 'streetdance'.

I strongly suspect Aliona genuinely thinks that the judges who criticise them just don't 'get' her more out-there work - eg her 'modern' (her word) American Smooth. At this point, in her head, she's dragging the concept of the Strictly showdance into the present. In reality, she's dragging it into a Paula Abdul video from 1989.

They begin dancing on blocks covered in gold textured wrapping paper - although on consultation with The Internet, it seems they're supposed to be hay bales. Because Matt is on Countryfile and lives on a farm. It actually looks like he and Aliona are podium dancers in a provincial branch of Ritzy's. There's a lot of stunts and acrobatics and what have you, but hardly any, like, dancing. Also, almost unforgivably, Matt is wearing a flat cap. A glittery flat cap. Aliona looks totally triumphant at the end. The judges look baffled. Matt's mum (perhaps, or big sister - who am I to judge) blows her fringe off her forehead in a slightly anxious, flustered way. Craig has it right when he says the concept didn't quite come together. AND WHOSE FAULT IS THAT? I DON'T THINK IT'S MATT'S.

The crumb of comfort seized on in the Jones living room is that there could have been a lot more 'grinding'. We must take it where we can. The comfort, not necessarily the grinding.

Onwards. Artem is dressed as Freddie Mercury. Kara may also be dressed as Freddie Mercury, or is it Flash Gordon, or is it another member of Queen, or is it just a person wearing an unflattering white jumpsuit?

They perform a frantic jive to Don't Stop Me Now. Full marks for choice of music. Two out of 10 for playing to Kara's strengths. There's barely a second in which she can stretch out her limbs in that elegant way that persuades you she could make pulling her knickers out of her bum crack look classy. Unfortunately, in performing a backflip, Kara hurts her wrist and clearly can't give the rest of the routine her all, meaning she misses a lift and messes up the ending.

Pamela and James showdance to I've Had The Time Of My Life from Dirty Dancing. It feels like an unambitious choice. I had thought P&J might go for the cheeky Hollywood charisma angle, a la Tom Chambers. Instead they seem to be channelling Ann Widdecombe, as the camera sees more of Pamela's gusset than can really be welcomed.

This may be the least inspiring group of showdances Strictly has ever seen.

Pamela and James top the leaderboard at half-time. Kara is absent at the summing up. I am imagining that somewhere backstage she is being filmed wincing under the hands of the show's doctors, and Artem is repeatedly smacking his head into a wall, full of self-loathing for making his beloved do that backflip. Artem is very emotional this evening. Perhaps it's because he is not wearing a trilby. It's a scientific fact that Russian professional dancers lose 80% of their emotions through their head.

Half time. We eat some cheese and vote for Kara.

At the start of the second show, it's time for one couple to leave. It's a surprise to hardly any of the viewing public that it's Pamela and James. It's more of a shock to Bruce, Tess and the judges. The BBC must have splashed some serious licence fee on soundproofing as it seems they genuinely could not hear 12 million people shouting '40? REALLY?' at their televisions in unison over the last couple of weeks.

The remaining two couples perform the dance they haven't yet done over the series. For Matt and Aliona, it's a Paso to Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood, which, you've got to think, is a message from Aliona to the judges about her 'groundbreaking' choreography. It's not a classic. In fact, there's a strong whiff of Week 8 about it. Aliona is wearing a hideous red and black Ann Summers-style basque, with a skirt stapled on. A member of our group expresses the wish that Matt had gone bare-chested under his bolero jacket, instead of wearing a grim crimson poloneck that looks like it was made for sweating through. Matt looks wounded by the judges' tepid comments, until Craig says he likes it, and then he looks nervous but embarrassed.

Kara, WHO IS INJURED, and Artem do the waltz. Kara is wearing a plucky, painted-on smile. Artem is still struggling to keep it together. In Tess's enclosure afterwards, Kara says in a flat voice: 'I can't seem to straighten my arm at the moment,' which reminds you of some tearjerking war film: 'Are you alright, Private Tointon? You seem to be bleeding a little.' 'Yes sir, tickety-boo. Silly really... can't seem to feel my damned legs. You go on ahead without me, I'll catch up.'

Finally, they repeat their favourite dance. Matt and Aliona repeat their Viennese Waltz which means the return of THAT SODDING SWING. They seem to have adjusted something so they don't get tangled up in the ropes. Urgh, can we have some more fun, Matt and Aliona? This is tedious. And, by the way, shopping-centre breakdancing does not equal fun, no matter what a 13-year-old boy may tell you.

For her American Smooth, Kara is wearing the dress of the series. This is the dance that will clinch the title. It is gorgeous. You can tell Kara is in a lot of pain and at the end, Artem stands apart from her so she can take all the applause. Aww. He kisses the side of her head (he does that A LOT in this half) and holds her injured arm tenderly. The Jones jury starts to express some concern at this point that Artem has showered Kara with affection this evening, and she hasn't totally reciprocated. Don't break his heart, Tointon!

Alesha tells Kara she is a beautiful woman inside and out. I agree. However, the man sitting next to me in a cafe in Dulwich on Monday does not, telling his friend that Kara's body is nice, but her face isn't all that. To which I say, do you want to wear that cooked breakfast, monkey chops?

Backstage, Tess keeps grabbing Kara's bad arm and waving it around. NOT HELPING, TESS. They get 10s from everyone except Len. Katya and Felicity are crying in the background.

I want them to win so badly. I thought I wanted Matt to, but I was actually supporting the Matt who exists in an alternate reality where he was partnered with Katya or Flavia, and danced a tricksy, fun, elegant showdance.

In their final summing-up VT, Kara says of Artem: 'I've made a friend for life'. He says: 'When she laughs, I find it so adorable.' This is more fuel for the one-sided fire.

Results time! Kara and Artem are triumphant! Phew. Right and good sense has won out. Matt is extremely gracious in defeat, and doesn't start crying or go mental. Kara pays tribute to Matt's time-consuming day-job which, to his credit, he hasn't harped on about. Unlike Scott.

She and Artem celebrate with that slightly awkward first-dance-at-a-wedding thing and - AND! - an ACTUAL KISS. Well. It's like a l-o-n-g peck. But on the lips. I think it is a sexy kiss. My guests think it is a fond-but-friends-only kiss. We rewind and watch again. I am right. You don't kiss your friends like that unless you're very drunk. I am assuming Kara and Artem are not very drunk, but I guess there's an outside chance Kara could be out of her tree on painkillers by now.

There's not much to say after that apart from, judging by the trailer, the Christmas special is going to be bloody brilliant. But blog-free - by me, at least.

Over and out.

There Will Be Showdances

It's Friday night and Strictly Come Dancing is on. It must be some kind of special occasion. It is, of course. It's the semi bloody final. This means I have to curb my usual Friday-night activities which may include any combination of burlesque dancing in a Hackney dive bar, handing out nourishing home-made soup to street children or performing my Spenserian sonnet cycle told through rap at a poetry slam event on Brick Lane.

Instead I am sitting on the sofa eating roast chicken and watching television. I can't tell you what a dramatic curb this is on my lifestyle. I literally can't tell you.

So who is first to dance for their lives? (In the case of Natalie, you could believe this is really the case.) It is Pamela and James, who are dancing a paso doble to Bad Romance, which is almost as awesome as it sounds, but not quite. Pamela seems to be channelling an evil doll while, with his hair and his waistcoat, James is looking particularly Wolverine this evening. Perhaps this explains how he has managed to train Pamela, WHO IS 61, to such a high standard. If ever she starts getting sloppy, he draws his terrible claws on her, and suddenly she finds new reservoirs of concentration.

Next, Kara and Artem do something I never thought I'd see with my own two lovely, lovely eyes. They make the Viennese Waltz sexy. They said it could never be done. By 'they', I basically mean 'me'. Kara is so good, even readers of this blog in Australia who have never watched Strictly Come Dancing know she should rightly win. Yet again, Bruce Forsyth seems to be totally surprised by the standing ovation that follows. Maybe, between each show, he simply forgets that they happen. After all, he is even older than Pamela, WHO IS 61. Kara and Artem only fail to get a perfect score because of some matter of a lift. Regular readers will know that these technicalities rarely bother me – other than when its suits me, of course.

Gavin and Katya are dancing the samba, a sexy, uninhibited party dance. For Gavin, this is a challenge akin to climbing the north face of the Eiger. Despite a valiant effort by Katya, they're not really demonstrating the appropriate levels of sensuality. When Gavin is called on to run his hand down Katya's thigh, it's as though he's wiping up a spillage of ketchup that just dripped off his portion of chips. The judges aren't keen, but afterwards Tess is particularly eager to see Gavin recreate his almost-perfected hip-swivel, and he is more than happy to oblige. This, you feel, is a new element he has introduced to his morning mirror routine – Blue Steel face, that twitchy pec thing people do who have more muscle mass than sense, a kiss for the 'guns', and now a swivel of hips. As he does it, Gav thinks: 'Yes! Now I am the complete package!'

Next up are Scott and Natalie. It's Scott's turn to wear the Ill-Advised Trilby this week. Artem must be sulking. In their training VT, Natalie says that Scott is the best partner she's ever danced with. Somewhere in his chrome-and-glass Cheshire bachelor pad, Ricky Whittle is tearing up his Strictly Come Dancing calendar and shouting 'Did what we had mean NOTHING to you?' Scott and Natalie dance the tango to the kind of wine-bar chill-out tune that makes me really aggressive. Scott seems to be lacking in conviction but luckily Natalie has more than enough intensity for both of them. She has 'Intensity' tattooed on one of her eyeballs. She has 'Ricky' tattooed on the other, now hastily covered up with a large flower design, and 'Scott' etched underneath.

Believe it or not, I have a bad feeling about Matt tonight. You can't help but feel a sense of dramatic irony about his somewhat over-confident training interview. Matt, don't you have any grasp of narrative? Don't you watch any TV when you're not, like, on it? OK, I know you are kind of busy perpetuating the miracles of nature on your farm, but still. Tune in, now and again, and see how it works.

Sure enough, their salsa is a troublingly bizarre combination of incredibly basic steps that I learnt on a Saturday-morning class in Kennington about seven years ago, and writhing, gyrating and thrusting. Three of the very grimmest '-ings', I think you'll agree. It all adds up to a big pile of Unsexy. Where are the spaghetti-junction arms? Where are, like, the good bits? They are dancing to Kylie's Spinning Around, which is more hands-in-the-air disco than grind-in-your-face salsa. Also, Aliona kind of has her jugs out. The whole thing just doesn't work – and the judges are lining up to tell them. They really go to town on the harsh stuff. Aliona doesn't really seem to grasp what's going on, but Matt is completely taken aback. Please don't cry, Matt. Oh God, I actually think he's going to cry. When Tess turns her sensitive and subtly probing interviewing beam on him, he can hardly speak.

The scores are in the 7s and 8s. OK, now what's going on? Matt is the new BBC primetime pin-up. Other contestants have danced this badly and got 9s. Why the slating? Are the judges undermarking Matt to jumpstart a huge sympathy vote from his supporters and ensure his progression to the next round, just in case the Handsome Droid is in danger of robotically ploughing his way through to the final, lights flashing and head swivelling?

But if this is a secret pro-Matt exercise (cruel to be kind and all that), then way to challenge him by making him go straight from the energetic salsa into the Swingathon – a dance so long it ends in 'athon' – with barely time for a towelling-down. Not to mention the fact he has to pick himself up emotionally from a place several hundred feet below devastated. Still, that's showbiz, Matt. Surely you learnt this on Blue Peter when you had to keep grinning like a simpleton through yet another exhibition of sarcophigi. Fortunately, Matt is at the peak of physical fitness as he races sheepdogs in his spare time.

The Swingathon should be the best thing ever, but it's something of a challenge to camerawork. You can't really see enough of the dancing. Predictably, Gavin goes out first, followed by Scott. Shock result! I thought Maslen would have this in the bag, what with him being full of 'personality' and all. Matt claws back some self-respect in second place, but Kara and Artem win. They also have the best outfits, so it's a victory for fashion too. Pamela is wearing hideous black clumpy trainers. It's as though she's forgotten to put her proper dancing shoes on. These tiny lapses of memory come with increasing frequency WHEN YOU ARE 61.

Ding ding! Round two! It's Saturday night! I am on my sofa again, but I am about to go to Camberwell and eat delicious tapas. You might think those things would be mutually exclusive but you would be very, very wrong.

Scott and Natalie are first up. After turning Scott into James Bond last week, Natalie is indulging another of her fantasies tonight, dressing him as a sailor. He's not exactly Richard Gere in An Officer And A Gentleman, but I expect she's not too fussed. They are dancing the Charleston, and I am fully expecting four 10s. Unfortunately, Scott's face seems to be working a lot harder than the rest of his body, and Natalie is doing most of the work. He's still very good, and we all know he's working incredibly hard and he's tired and blah blah, but he really could do with a bit more, as Len – and Chas and Dave – would say, 'Gertcha'. There is no standing ovation at the end which, from the usual studio audience, is pretty damning. Almost as damning as a panel of judges who have just sat through Matt Baker's salsa. Considering he has been gifted two of the most crowd-pleasing dances in the semi-final, Scott is not – as The X Factor judges would say – smashing it.

Unlike Kara and Artem, who have been given the two dullest dances. After the miracle of the Sexy Viennese Waltz, can they produce the Miracle of the Sexy Rumba That Is Actually Sexy And Not In A Way That Makes You Do A Little Bit Of Sick In Your Mouth? Yes, is the answer. Yes. Kara does stumble a couple of times and borderline-infringes the lift rules again, but that doesn't stop three of the judges giving her a 10.

Next, Matt and Aliona are dancing the tango. Matt still looks like he's about to cry. Come on, Matthew. Think of all those animals on the farm, with their noses pushed up against the windows of your house, watching their master on the telly. Do it for them! Do it for the pigs! Do it for the cows! He does do it for them. It's brilliant, principally because they are dancing to Hung Up by Madonna. It would be hard to fail. He does do a 100% laughable hands-on-hips pose at the end, but compared to last night, this is a triumph. The judges are full of praise. Is this the completion of some triumph-against-adversity, comeback-kid vote-generator for Matt? I think I'm right in saying the phone lines weren't open last night, after his downfall, but they are tonight, after his get-back-up. Correct me if I'm wrong.

Gavin and Katya dance the waltz. The most exciting thing about it is Katya's red dress. Len gives him a 9. I swear at Len.

Pamela and James close this week's competition with a quickstep which is not particularly quick. Maybe this is because of her fitness levels what with her BEING 61 and a GRANDMA. It's very classic Hollywood though and the judges think it is the best thing they've ever seen.

They score it 40. Really?

Really.

Finally, Take That perform The Flood. I love this song. If you like, my friend Stef and I could come to your house and present our one-hour thesis on the symbolism of the video. It's not a complicated interpretation, but we are particularly enthusiastic about it. Robbie and Mark do some dancing and larking about together. If you do not squeal at this, then you did not live with a houseful of girls at university in the early 90s. Or maybe you did, but you were quite a lot cooler than us. Wait, no, it can't be that.

Also, Jason looks SPECTACULAR.

We end with a montage of 110% journey-speak from the contestants. Scott says he's given it everything he's got. I don't know about everything, but he's definitely given it about four stone.

I do not see the results show because I AM AT WORK. ON A SUNDAY NIGHT. I KNOW. But I have heard the outcome and, for me, it is the right one. Also, I know that Take That performed Back For Good, which I'm not sure I could sit through without combusting with excitable nostalgia.

Join me for The Actual Final next week. There Will Be Showdances (this is the title of Daniel Day-Lewis's next film project). About the prospect of Matt and Aliona's showdance, I feel the way I did about queuing up to see the body of Lenin in his mausoleum in Red Square when I was an impressionable 18-year-old. Nervous, excited, scared. Nauseous.

Strictly: The Pretty Good Four (And The Other Three)

There are now just seven contestants left in this year's competition. Seven! So have the Strictly Come Dancing scriptwriters chosen a seven-related theme to flog to the verge of collapse? I think you know the answer to that. But are the competitors the Seven Wonders Of The Strictly World? Are they the Lucky Seven? (In the case of Ann, yes, obviously.) Are they Strictly Club 7? No, but if they were, Gavin would totally be Tina.

They're the Magnificent Seven! Of course they are. Or, more accurately, The Pretty Good Four, plus Patsy, Gavin and Ann.

Kara and Artem are on first. Artem is clearly feeling better because he has a hat on again. All is right with the world. Not the fashion world, obviously. But, you know, the Strictly world, which a remarkable number of people confuse with the real one.

Kara and Artem are dancing the jive. It doesn't go entirely according to plan. It's a bit unfocused and there seems to be something missing. Maybe what's missing is two days' training which they had to skip as a result of Artem's shocking Neck! Injury! But still, Kara is just great at dancing. I'm sure she could pick her nose and wipe it on the judges' desk in a way that looks elegant and well-placed.

In a week in which Alesha's judging plums new depths, she tells Kara and Artem that they are on a journey. Let's recap. They started off being really good. They're still really good. They got off with each other a bit and then Artem hurt his neck. That's hardly the Trans-Siberian railway, Alesha.

Next up are Ann and Anton. I don't remember them being this high up in the running order before – perhaps the Strictly bosses are hoping the voting public will have forgotten about them by the time the lines open (The X Factor seem to be trying a similar technique with Wagner tonight, who is also on early) but give that most of Ann's performances scar the retinas of all who watch them, this seems unlikely. Their training VT is painful to watch as Ann squawks and snaps at Anton. Jesus, I feel for him. He really has atoned for the misdemeanours of last series. He has been wearing that Widdecombe hairshirt for nine weeks now.

I picture him at home, getting ready for training – ironing his slacks with shoulders slumped; pulling on his smart V-neck and wondering if he can just hide there inside his jumper for the next four weeks; looking at himself in the mirror as he straightens his tie, pale and hollow-cheeked, questioning whether he can paint the smile on again for yet another day. But of course he can, because he is Anton Du Beke and that is What He Does.

I'm extrapolating slightly.

Admittedly, the first moments of his and Ann's rumba, when you realise they are essaying an interpretation of Titanic, is HILARIOUS. After that, not so much. Ann's 'feisty' (translation: rude) backchat to the judges afterwards? Even less so. The only other watchable part of their routine comes at the end, as Anton lowers a plank-like Ann towards the floor. I can't be alone in imagining he is lowering her beneath the icy waters of the Atlantic Ocean and holding her there.

I don't know what to say about Patsy who is next. She dances the tango. It's OK. She gets OK marks. She will probably go out this week but she will be OK with it. It's all OK. (Also, OK is just one of the magazines she will be interviewed in over the coming weeks, as she talks about how Strictly has Turned Her Life Around).

Scott isn't having a good week. He's exhausted. He's doing two jobs. Man up, Maslen! At the start of their American Smooth, he looks uncomfortable. By the end, he's suffered a total D'Angelo and has forgotten his steps and is being dragged around by Natalie. In an attempt to make Scott feel better, or maybe because he simply didn't notice the meltdown, Bruce says, 'That was my kind of number and my kind of dance.' What, where someone is forgetful, makes loads of mistakes, and is led through the show by a younger colleague..?

I think Craig is being generous when he gives Scott and Natalie a 6. Bruno and Alesha give them 9s. Alesha, at exactly this time three years ago I thought you were amazing. Now, you have RUINED what we had between us and you will NEVER GET IT BACK. Bruno, you had less far to fall, but you are also marking like a dick.

Do the judges always score the EastEnders stars so kindly? Perhaps Len is angling for a part as the next Frank Butcher/Archie Mitchell gentleman gangster - all twinkly eyes, sovereign ring and Costa Del Tan.

Next is a weird Magnificent Seven montage (there are seven of them, you see) where the contestants were obviously grabbed as they came off stage last week, had a sparkly hen-night stetson thrust on their heads and asked to pose as cowboys and speak in American accents. Tsk. If we really have to have this kind of filler element in the show, can't it at least be a selection of Bruce's hairpieces fashioned into marionettes, 'dancing' in a miniature puppet theatre?

After this diversion, Katya and Gavin are doing the jive – a dance which is fast, athletic and doesn't require a huge amount of emotion. Right up Gavin's strasse, you might think.

Not so much as it turns out.

In training, Katya is trying to get Gavin to express his emotions because, according to Gavin, there's too many of them in his brain, and he needs to get them out so that the steps can go in. I'm fascinated by the 'one in, one out' door policy of the thoughts in Gavin's head. "Alright, my brain, I'll swap you a nervous embarrassment for a swinging Katya around my head."

Unfortunately, the emotions Gavin is expressing seem to be those of a 13-year-old. For example, 'The jive is a STUPID dance and I HATE IT.'

After they've floundered their way through the dance (I think it's fair to say that Gavin has plateaued), Len tells him we all have to do things we don't like. His mum used to dress him in an angora beret when he was little. I never knew that Len was secretly Our Rita, Johnny Briggs' sister. (Thanks to Len for providing this week's 80s TV reference, so that I don't have to.)

Next up are Matt and Aliona, who are dancing the American Smooth. Now, let's imagine you're a professional dancer and your celebrity partner is graceful, muscular and gymnastic, with a twinkly old-fashioned appeal. You'd be channelling Gene Kelly for all you're worth, right?

Not if you're Aliona.

If you're Aliona, you choreograph an incredibly bizarre 'story' dance that - unforgivably – makes you think of the rumba when it's NOT EVEN A RUMBA. You will make Matt wear a terrible 'blousony' shirt that matches your hair, and have him pull excruciating 'I'm in love! I'm in pain! I'm in love!' faces throughout. Matt starts and finishes on the floor, which makes me think he's meant to be dead. I wonder if this is what he was wishing for when Aliona first showed him the steps. At the end, he bangs his fists on the ground in anger/pain/frustration/it's anyone's guess really. I'm not sure if that's actually in the choreography. Aliona says the dance is about 'a struggle in New York'. Aliona, finding a nice hotel room in Manhattan for under £100 is 'a struggle in New York'. This dance is not.

Matt looks deeply embarrassed during the judges' lukewarm comments, like he just wishes he was in a field in the dark in County Durham birthing a sheep, even if it is -10º outside. Matt's lovely wife in the audience has a face that says 'You! Red! Why are you making my husband look like a TOTAL moron?'

Should they make the final, I can only imagine the interpretive car crash of their showdance.

Still, I should point out that despite the alarming 'concept', their dance is hugely accomplished technically - although Alesha and Bruno score them lower than Scott and Natalie.

Pamela and James dance the Charleston. It's fun but a little inelegant. Given the night that everyone else has had, though, it's still enough to get them some 10s and put them at the top of the leaderboard. They use the same prop door that Scott and Natalie did for their brilliant jive. I'm going to start calling it the lucky door. It's only a matter of time before Tess does.

A few notes from the results show:

1) I could have choreographed that pro dance at the start.

2) Claudia interviewing a mumbling Gavin and then admitting she didn't understand a word he said is one of my favourite things I have ever seen on Strictly Comes Dancing.

3) In a bizarre dress-up montage where the celebrities introduce next week's movie theme, Ann is truly chilling dressed up as Dorothy in The Wizard Of Oz, walking a yellow brick road and shrilly calling 'Anton! Annnn-ton!' It's like a horror film. But this is Anton's future, once the series has ended Ann ringing his doorbell, bellowing his name through the letterbox, while he cowers inside, crouched below the living-room window, desperate not to be seen.

4) Patsy is eliminated, and is OK.

Next week is movie week! Theming craziness! After ending up in the bottom two this week, Gavin has to start being blatant again. Will he and Katya attempt some erotic-pottery tribute to Ghost? He's going to need something drastic. It's that or 9 1/2 Weeks.

Last night I dreamt that I saw Ann Widdecombe's undergarments. Oh no. That wasn't a dream

In case the subtle theming and gossamer-light wordplay of the scriptwriters haven't given it away, tonight Strictly Come Dancing comes from Blackpool. BLACKPOOL! LIVE FROM BLACKPOOL! THE VEGAS OF THE NORTH. SEE HOW THE PROFESSIONAL DANCERS ARE DANCING TO VIVA LAS VEGAS. DO YOU SEE? IT IS BECAUSE WE ARE IN VEGAS BLACKPOOL!

Just so long as everyone's clear on that.

The graphics department have gone to town on a special Strictly logo thing, which includes an Illuminations-style effigy of Bruce Forsyth that moves a clenched fist up and down. It is tempting to speculate on how much more animated it is than the real thing.

We begin with Robin and Patsy. One of my viewing companions for the evening expresses some concern about Patsy's emotional stability. This hadn't really occurred to me. I'm usually transfixed by how much of her face can move – and the good news is: most of it. But on reflection, there may be something Patsy needs to work through, with her near-constant stream of: 'Well, I'll probably get everything WRONG. A contender? I don't THINK so. I'm wearing a leotard and NO ONE WANTS TO SEE THAT.' But this evening, her mood seems to have swung the other way because everything is BRILLIANT and AMAZING and I LOVE BLACKPOOL. Her samba is not quite worthy of the same superlatives - I'm going to say it's a bit skippy and her face says 'desperate concentration' rather than 'party time'. But she's still my favourite of the celebrities who are not quite the best ones.

Although you may think Patsy should stay single for a while, I'm wondering if a nice, down-to-earth man could provide a stabilising influence. But who? And where to find him? I am still pondering this five minutes later when we are reintroduced to Dave Arch and his band. Dave Arch! Dave Arch and Patsy! Aww, Dave looks so nice and cuddly. I bet he would like to put on a cosy jumper and a sensible coat and take you out for a lovely country walk and a pub lunch. And he's in the music business, which seems to be Patsy's main criteria for a partner.

Over in Kara and Artem's corner, Artem has sustained an injury earlier in the day, while practising a tricky lift. There is high drama! There is ominous music! There is Artem wincing under the hands of a medic! Kara feels responsible and is crying, ruining her terrifying amount of make-up. But even wracked with pain, Artem says 'I'm still going to dance the American Smooth, like I promised her!' OK, maybe he actually says 'Like I promised to' but still. Don't tell me this just is a showmance. To be honest, I think Kara could probably do a bit better, but never mind.

When it gets to show time, you can tell Artem is feeling out of sorts because he can't even manage to put a trilby on. They are brilliant, as always, but Len is furious that their American Smooth wasn't a proper foxtrot, so how can he judge it? Erm, maybe as an American Smooth, Len. Not, like, as a foxtrot. You will remember, at this point, that I know nothing about dancing. Still, Len has quite the episode about this. At point one he stands up to address the crowd, and I hope he is going to launch into a brilliant loose-cannon speech about the state of ballroom dancing and television today, like Judd Hirsch in the first episode of Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip, only that is not about ballroom dancing. But he doesn't. He just sits down again. Maybe next week.

There is much discussion in the room about the fancyability of Matt Baker. Verdict: pretty fanciable, especially after we witness his quite spectacular range of lower body movement during the samba. It's best not to dwell on his 'samba face'. Matt finally gets his first 10s, but they come from Alesha and Bruno, so I'm not sure that's any indication of quality. But if I ever meet Matt – and I am increasingly entertaining fantasies of this happening – I would tell him that the least Strictly-obsessed of our number is unsure whether he or Aliona is the professional dancer tonight.

Felicity and Vincent must be nervous this evening. They are dancing the American Smooth, which starts with a celebrity/paparazzi theme, and then goes into a lot of what I call strolling about, with Felicity looking slightly disorientated, as though Vincent is showing her around the gardens of a sheltered housing development. But then they move into a conventional hold and things pick up no end and it's elegant and sweet. Bruce says 'That's your kind of dance.' And by that, Bruce, do you basically mean an old one? The judges have mixed feelings. I'm transfixed by the marshmallow-pink, PVC-effect bodice of Felicity's dress.

Grab a cushion to hide behind, it's time for Gavin and Katya. Katya is wearing a crazy hat, which makes me think of Kim Cattrall in Mannequin. I'm hoping for a full-on tribute to the film, danced to Starship's Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now, although it would be confusing as to which of them was impersonating the shop dummy. Ahahahahahaha. Sorry Gavin. When it becomes clear from their training VT that Gavin is going to attempt a death-defying, Kenny Logan-style one-armed lift, I wonder if Katya's hat is an elaborately disguised crash helmet, but no, she discards it early on in the routine.

Their dance starts with Gavin playing a rock star, miming along to the singers. You just know that what's running through his little orange head is : 'Yes! I'm Peter Andre!' When they attempt The Lift, it is very shaky, and you sense that Katya's life is flashing before her eyes, and she is wondering why she wasted so much of it trying to teach Gavin Henson to dance.

Now it's time for Scott and Nata... oh.

Oh God.

Oh no. Please no.

I think we all knew that this was going to happen tonight, but none of us wanted to face up to it.

Bruce starts dancing.

Some of the comments in the room where I am watching include:

'THAT'S NOT DANCING, THAT'S JUST SHUFFLING!'

'YOU CAN SEE THAT IN ANY OLD PEOPLE'S HOME UP AND DOWN THE COUNTRY.'

It is a mercifully short performance, though, and there is no singing.

Come on, everyone. It's over now. We're all OK. A little shaken up, but we've lived to tell the tale. This will only make us stronger.

And here are Scott and Natalie, with their samba. Despite impressive chest-shimmying (technical term), Scott is just not as bendy as the Baker. Scott is not bendy enough to bend over and lace up Matt Baker's bendy boots. It is disappointing, but Alesha and Bruno still give them a 9. CHRIST.

Pamela and James dance a cheeky come-hither American Smooth to Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps. Will the people who regularly sing karaoke with me in small rooms in Soho remind me to try this next time? Thanks. It's great, but there's a bit of ungainly pre-lift action, so we're slightly surprised that they get a couple of 10s. Less surprised that they're from Alesha and Bruno, obviously. James is stoked, though, and it's hard to begrudge him and Pamela their scores. Obviously I'll have a good try though.

Ann and Anton close the show. Normally, you are only forced to turn away from the screen when they actually start dancing. But this week, well, their costumes are something else. Ann is wearing a shade of yellow I can only describe as furious. Anton is wearing gold trousers that I can only describe as gold. In their VT, as Ann's feistiness is highlighted, the backing music is Bigmouth Strikes Again by The Smiths. I'm distracted by the idea of Ann and Anton waltzing to the maudlin strains of Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me? Or, perhaps, a cha-cha-cha to Girlfriend In A Coma?

I can't really say much about Ann and Anton's samba, other than it ends with Ann sprawled on the floor, canary-yellow undercarriage centre-stage and camera-wards. I will merely report the words of the male faction of our party, spoken with the terrible eyes of a haunted man: 'I have seen up Ann Widdecombe's skirt.'

None of us, now, can ever go back.

So that is this week's Saturday night show. In other Strictly news, though, let us pay tribute to Harry from McFly's Children In Need paso with Ola Jordan. Harry is my second favourite member of McFly after Tom. Tom is the brains of the outfit. I like brains.

Anyway.

Let us also rejoice in news of the Strictly Christmas special – not so much in the line-up (still no Madeley, though booking June Brown is genius) but specifically the return of homoerotic overlord (see November 2nd's write-up) Matthew Cutler. Let joy be unconfined. And, like, ding-dong merrily on high.

'When you dance on the edge...'

Damn. I have broken a promise to myself - yes, another one, less a habit and more of a way of life – which is to post at least one thing a week here that isn't Strictly related. Yet here we are again. Another Saturday night has come and gone, with nothing new here since the last one. I will do better.

It's entirely possible that people come here thinking it is only a blog about Strictly Come Dancing, and technically, at this very moment, they are correct. Now I know how Soulwax felt when they started doing mash-ups and everyone forgot they had been a journeyman indie band for years.

I am the Soulwax of blogging, and it is my own fault.

Anyway.

This week we see a curious quasi-phenomenon that Strictly has attempted to create all by itself - The Road To Blackpool. Next week, as at this stage of the competition last year, the programme will come live from the Tower Ballroom. Dancing at Blackpool, according to the makers of Strictly Come Dancing, is a physical and spiritual revelation akin to climbing to the top of Machu Picchu or something. For the professionals, this may be true. I'm sensing that the viewers can live without an extra 10 minutes of VT featuring James Jordan larking about on a minibus. Potentially, I suppose, there is the chance for some of our overseas Strictly friends – Michelle, Artem, etc – to discover the great British institution of the Travelodge.

Still, we must consider that if they removed the Strictly Goes To Blackpool element, we would be all spared the shame of Bruce Forsyth's exruciating northern accent.

A girl can dream.

Dancing first are Pamela and James, with a cha-cha-cha reflecting the economic downturn, as all good cha-cha-chas should. As James rips off Pamela's pin-striped trousers, we are reminded of the fall from grace of the bankers and… you're right, I don't really know where I'm going with this. It's a pretty good dance anyway, but Len says it was a bit careful. I'm not surprised. James must be suffering from chronic tartan blindness after his midweek visit to Pamela's stately homestead in Scotland. Pamela is probably accustomed to it by now, and just thinks that every surface comes in a chequered pattern, so damaged are her retinas.

If Michelle and Brendan do anything this week, they confirm Craig's suspicion that her improvement last week was due to Brendan holding her too tightly for her to mess up. It all goes a bit peculiar again this week though, and we are reminded that limb control is not high on Michelle's list of key skills. Being kooky, yes. Buying her own diamonds and buying her own rings/associated 'independent woman' characteristics, yes. Also, calling Len sir. She is excellent at that. It reminds me of Marcie on Peanuts saying it to Peppermint Patty. Michelle and Marcie both have the same gruff little voice. Also, Michelle is wearing a crazy white lace dress, inspired by those postcards of Spanish ladies, where the skirt is a bit of real lace stuck on to the card.

Patsy looks amazing this evening. She seems to be looking younger each week, which is an unexpected side effect of knocking Botox on the head. She has fabulous 60s make-up and is dancing to Anyonewhoever'adan'arrrrrt, as I like to write it – although not Cilla's version this time, but Dusty's. Her waltz gets a standing ovation, which gives Bruce the chance to break out his new catchphrase, 'LOOK AT THIS!' while gesturing wildly at the audience, like he's on a picnic with his lovely wife Wilnelia and he's swotting wasps away from his corned beef sandwich.

Now, perhaps you have been wondering what on earth Gavin and Katya could do next to mobilise the lady votes, following Gavin Topless and Gavin 'n' Katya Heavy Petting. Here is the answer. Gavin Snogging A Man. Well, I say snogging. It's a long peck. A long peck with Bruno. AND Gavin's kids visit him in the training room. Sexy? Tick! Sentimental? Tick! Votes? Tick! Tick! Their quickstep is a concept dance. The concept is that Katya is trying to teach Gavin to dance, but he is not very good and easily distracted. It is a colossal feat of creative imagination, clearly. For the first time, Gavin actually looks like he might be enjoying himself, rather than wishing he was anywhere else, eg having an intimate body wax. It's not a technical triumph, but Gavin (who has talked more in this week's allotted six minutes than I've heard him through the rest of the series put together) says that seeing his kids in the VT caused him to make some mistakes. "I miss em' a bit," he says. Oh, skillful laying on of sentiment, Gavin. You are not as dumb as you look. Unless that was actually genuine. Once again, Bruce brings out the 'LOOK AT THIS! ' Gavin and Katya get 9s from Alesha and Bruno, who conceivably are as dumb as they look.

Ann and Anton are doing the foxtrot to You Make Me Feel So Young. This is the song that Ann hears playing in her head whenever Anton's around and, increasingly, when he's not. She hears it as she awakes in the morning with renewed joie de vivre, as she sprays on a new and rather daring bottle of cologne, as bluebirds sing on her bedroom window sill while she combs her hair. She and Anton are back to ballroom this week, actually attempting the steps of the foxtrot and everything. And while Ann's feet may be doing something in the vicinity of dancing, I'm not sure you could say that for the rest of her. When they go over for the judges' comments, Ann is a bit fighty. The best form of defence is always attack, as New Order may or may not have sung on World In Motion, but still, I could do with a bit more shut up from Ann about now.

I feel it is important note that Gavin and Katya are leading at this point.

Next there is a film about Blackpool. After expressing my indifference to Strictly Goes Blackpool, I now find that I would quite genuinely like to go. I have never been. I don't care about the ballroom, I just want the slots and the sand and the fish and chips. Who wants to come with me? That is a genuine question.

Next up, Kara and Artem dancing the Argentine tango. In her VT, Kara is excited to meet the Chuckle Brothers. Kara, you need to start learning to dream big. You will be in Chicago in three months' time, where you may get to meet an ex-member of the Backstreet Boys, or even Claire Sweeney. Get used to it. Kara begins the routine wearing a trilby, which I believe to be one of the world's most ill-advised fashion items. Although if you were some kind of gangster, I would probably tell you it suited you to your face. They are brilliant and I feel they are undermarked when they get 2 9s and 2 10s. If they had switched the trilby for something more dramatic – a fez, say, or a fireman's helmet - who knows, we may have been seeing full marks. No regrets, though, Kara and Artem. Onwards and upwards. Keep working hard and one day you may achieve the same penetrating insight into costume and performance as me.

Felicity and Vincent are dancing the salsa. Vincent's shirt is brazenly untucked. This is enough to cause some of the more conservative members of the viewing public to take to their writing bureau and express their distaste. Felicity is wearing a poloneck, which seems a particularly un-salsa-y garment. Why not go the whole hog and slip a duffel on? The clothing is an appropriately bad omen, as the dance descends into a stumbly, bumpy tangle of arms and enthusiasm-turned-awkward. All they need is a trestle table to one side laden with half-eaten sausage rolls and screwed-up napkins to evoke that 1am wedding-reception feel. That is a prop Strictly Come Dancing should totally get.

Matt and Aliona seem to have gone off the boil in recent weeks. Or maybe they have stayed at a steady simmer. Perhaps Matt spunked his backflip too early (in week one, for Christ's sake. Powder dry, Matthew. Powder. Dry.). I cringe at the very idea of them doing a rumba, given how excruciating Scott's was last week, but I have to say, this is the most watchable rumba I've ever, like, watched – although the judges don't all agree. Again with the untucked shirt, though. There will be talk of hell. There will be talk of handcarts. I worry about Matt having to bury his face in Aliona's hair to such an extent. It must be pretty chemical in there. Luckily Matt's lungs are so full of wholesome fresh country air, he can withstand it. Matt needs a big week some time soon. Get him to an American Smooth asap, is what I say.

Never mind untucked shirts. Scott and Natalie's outfits do not match in any way at all. This is anarchy! There has been a lot of talk about weight-loss in tonight's show, but Scott is the most dramatic example of this. I don't think he looks very well. And his neck's gone a bit Deirdre Barlow. Lend him your poloneck, Felicity. Now, there's no other way to say it – Scott's jive is amazing. There is a story! There is a door! It is amazing! Scott is so compact and tidy and sharp and... muscular somehow. Also, Natalie is an excellent choreographer. Still, the mean part of me (I know you don't believe this actually exists, but I have difficult news for you) really hopes the door jams, Auntie's Bloomers-style, just to see Natalie's reaction. Would she stay eerily calm while her eyes turned totally black, would she lie down on the floor and start screaming like a two-year-old in a supermarket, or would she just go straight for full body combustion? Whatever, it doesn't happen and the crowd go crazy. Len says 'When you dance on the edge...' which sounds like a brilliant line for the trailer of Strictly Come Dancing... The Movie, but then he concludes the sentence with '...you can go wrong' which is hardly the same as the threat of violent death, and that's the kind of jeopardy we're all looking for at the cinema.

In the results show, Claudia betrays the fact that she an avid reader of this blog by more or less reiterating my point from last week that Michelle is living out the words to Destiny's Child's Survivor. But not any more. Sorry, Michelle.

Next week, roll up your trouser legs, knot your handkerchief and brush up your cliches. It's Blackpool, baby!

Badly done, ballroom voters

We are halfway through the competition, according to my calculations, which must mean that we are due for a Shock! Departure! I can say this with the calm authority of someone who already knew the week's results when she started writing this. But still, make no mistake, even at the start of the show there is a whiff of Gaby Logan in the air. Eau D'Injustice is a bitter, bitter scent.

Still, let's pretend we don't know the sad thing that we know. Man up everyone, put on your best paso face and let's rewind to the beginning.

Kara and Artem are first up and – romance, showmance or nomance – things seem to be getting a little fraught in the training room, as Artem is learning to handle Kara's mood swings. OK, so you're putting up with them now, Artem, but will you be able to put up with them in 10 weeks' time on a luxury, all-expenses-paid-by-OK!-magazine holiday to the sun-kissed Seychelles where the two of you will be taking part in a photo shoot and 12-page interview about how you Found Love On The Dancefloor? Will you? Will you? Yes, I agree, you probably will. Kara and Artem dance a brilliant salsa. Or, more specifically, Kara's hair dances a brilliant salsa. She shakes it around A LOT. Kara is ever-so-slightly passion over precision, but I love her for it. She's the anti-Ali Bastian.

Pamela and James are dancing the foxtrot. James is tetchy in the training VT and Pamela says it's because he's cross about last week's disappointing performance but can't really talk about it, so he's taking it out elsewhere. At the end of their much, much better foxtrot, Pamela and James do the most cheesy look-back to camera ever, so I'm wondering if this incident will also manifest itself in the training room next week, perhaps by extreme nausea and feelings of deep shame. I don't know. I'm no psychologist.

Next up, Felicity and Vincent. After bringing out Vincent's adorable son last week, the VT makers are running out of options, so they take to the streets to interview Great Britain's men (most of whom are apparently played by Paul Whitehouse) about how hot Felicity is for her age. One of them is actually a taxi driver mouthing off out of his cab window. What they say can be condensed into: 'Felicity? 64? Phwoar! Wahey! Gertcha!' Let's not dwell. Felicity doesn't really throw herself into the paso doble enough. Maybe she's just guarding her joints carefully. She's 64, you know. Also, she is hampered by having to wear a revolting false plait, which is presumably representing the bull's tale. You really should get an extra mark off each judge for having to wear any kind of hair that is not your own. At the end of the dance, when Felicity the bull is slain, Vincent takes his jacket off and swishes it around, exposing his bare chest, before dragging Felicity away by the foot. But instead of thinking 'The cruel elegance of the matador! The terrible beauty of the kill!' you just think, 'Aww! Look at little Vincent with his top off!'

Jimi and Flavia pay a visit to Jimi's daughters school in their training film. Jimi's all: 'Yeah, my little princess thinks her old dad's kind of awesome.' His daughter is all: 'This is the worst day of my life, Dad! You're SO EMBARRASSING!' Her schoolmates, unburdened by the social niceties of adulthood, give their dance skills very short shrift indeed. Still, it's all come right by Saturday as Flavia and Jimi do an ace Jazz Age quickstep with a mini dance-off at the start. (I love a dance-off.) Jimi still has a strange expression on his face. This week, it's one of expectation, like he's waited too long for his food in a restaurant and is looking up hopefully at every dish that emerges from the kitchen.

Matt and Aliona have a bit of a tiff in training. I don't think it's the first. Matt says, 'It's not an issue.' It quite obviously is an issue, to the extent where at one point he seems to be gazing out of a window, wondering whether he can jump out. They begin their Viennese waltz dancing around a spectacularly twee swing, which was apparently bought by the props manager from a Las Vegas wedding chapel, who were selling it on account of it being a bit OTT for them. Matt and Aliona's arms keep getting caught up in the ropes of the swing which must be super-annoying. After catching a tantalising glimpse of Dark Matt in training, I would love it if the rope thing totally tipped him over the edge, and he went berserk, kicking the swing in until it collapsed in a sorry heap of cheap wood and fake flowers, while Aliona stands there crying. This doesn't happen. But there's still six weeks to go and, presumably, a whole lot more props in the warehouse. Instead, they complete their dance to Where The Wild Roses Grow by Nick Cave and Kylie. You've probably heard that Nick Cave likes nothing better than to put on a velour leisure suit and watch Strictly on a Saturday night with his wife and a posh pizza from M&S on a tray table. Kylie loves it too, but obviously has to pretend she prefers X Factor.

Next up, it's Ann and Anton. I think the hair, make-up and wardrobe departments have done very well with Ann's rigid list of costume dos and don'ts (she's practically J-Lo). However, this week, with her Charleston headband, it's all gone a bit a bit 'mad nan'. Ann says that there is no need for any dance to turn into 'mating antics', and her dress will not be rising any higher than her ankle. I think everyone's just fine with that, Ann. What follows is less a Charleston, and more something from The Generation Game. You've got to hand it to Anton, he is working HARD here, putting on a show with the raw material he has. But if I didn't know, I would find it almost impossible to guess which dance they were doing, as Ann's Charleston content is practically nil. But then, as we've established, I know nothing about dancing. Len gives them a 6. Len, as I've said before, is the real problem with the Strictly judges, even though he is a kindly, lovable old man with a sovereign ring and a twinkle in his eye and a shiny gold farthing for any urchin he sees begging on the street.

By managing to escape the cut yet again last week, Michelle and Brendan seem to be living out the lyrics to Michelle's Grammy award-winning hit Survivor – she literally is a Survivor, she's not gonna give up, she's not gonna stop, she's gonna work harder. Michelle, I want you to know that, for my part, I'm not going to diss you on the internet, cause my momma told me better than that. The dancing stuff does seem to be coming together a little more for Michelle – although as Craig points out, this may just be because the waltz allows Brendan to drag her around the floor. She's getting her sass back though. I love the bit in her training video when she assumes a deranged waltzing posture and says 'Lower! Prepare! DRIVE!' Brendan makes a feeble plea for voting benevolence by claiming they were waltzing to a foxtrot piece of music which is apparently INCREDIBLY HARD. Brendan, no one cares about that. Try adding some slapstick instead. People will love it.

Patsy, meanwhile, is now only able to speak in coverlines from Closer magazine. 'I've got my confidence back!' 'I've dropped two dress sizes!' 'I feel good about myself again!' She and Robin dance to All The Lovers by Kylie, which is an amazing choice of music, but perhaps not for this particular dance, which may or may not be the cha-cha-cha. I think they go quite badly wrong, but then I'm always thinking people get it wrong when they don't. Then, when they do, I never notice, I'm just thinking, 'This is BRILLIANT!' The judges have some issues with it, but they mostly seem to be Robin's fault, so that's OK.

It all goes wrong for Scott and Natalie this week. They are dancing the stupid rumba, so you can't really blame them. The first problem is that Scott doesn't actually have very much to do, apart from unfurling his arms a bit and holding onto Natalie while she does some Sexy (it says here) Writhing. Again, Len marks them ludicrously highly. As Alesha dishes out the criticism, Natalie smiles and nods, while clearly thinking, 'I'll get you, Dixon. I'LL GET YOU.' Craig gives them a 4. I love him for it.

The cha-cha-cha is the first dance of Gavin's that I have watched without hiding my eyes, or my whole head, or full-body flinching. Katya has a 'sexy rugby' outfit on, while Gavin is wielding a ball. They both seem to be participating in some rugby-themed soft-porn musical. They should totally make that film. They're sitting on a goldmine. It's Gavin's best dance by miles, although I can't help thinking he's doing all the same moves as he did last week for the paso.

And so to the matter of the results, where we see that Jimi's daughter and her chums were not the only ones who didn't enjoy his dancing. I hope she doesn't grow up feeling bad about this, watching her ageing dad sitting in his armchair in a threadbare sequinned shirt, playing and rewinding videos of the night he danced to Thriller in freaky contact lenses. It's genuinely upsetting how shocked Jimi and his on-show pals like Brendan are by the result. Now, of course, we are entering what's known as Sargeant Season, where people who foolishly think that Strictly is a fair and just dance competition get increasingly FURIOUS about Ann and say 'Well, I like a joke as much as the next person but it's gone too far now. She's keeping better dancers out of the competition.'

To them, I say that this has been happening since series 1, you fools. You think it is all sequins and skills and showmance, but it is HEARTBREAK and TRAGEDY and SHAKING YOUR FISTS AT THE HEAVENS. DEAL WITH IT!

Till next week.