Snowdon for the trophy

White smoke at TV Centre. The Strictly Come Dancing line-up is official. 

I am disappointed for the following reasons: 

Reason one: Stephanie Beacham cannot be in it every year. 

Reason two: After discussions with various female friends, I am asserting that we have been unequivocally short-changed in the hotness stakes. Let us examine the evidence. The women are: Lisa Snowdon (fox), Rachel Stevens (dwarfish, bovine, but nonetheless clearly a fox), Cherie Lunghi (fox for the dads), Christine Bleakley (bland teatime fox), Jodie Kidd (posh polo fox), Gillian Taylforth (older, borderline fox but shades it because crucially, as my friend Colin is wont to say, looks like she knows her onions), Jessie Wallace (not a fox, but seems like she'd be Up For It), Heather Small (not, to me, a fox, plus has a voice that could crack paving slabs).

Boxes for foxes ticked: 6.25/8

Let us now turn to the men. Mark Foster (fox with ludicrous Disney Strong Man physique), Tom Chambers (fox), Austin 'Hairpiece' Healey (fox potential, were he accepting of the receding hairline issue – chicks dig vulnerability, Austin), Don Warrington (bizarrely, borderline older fox), Andrew Castle (as bland as rice pudding, significantly less comforting, therefore non fox), Phil Daniels (less a fox, more a Jack Russell terrier), John Sargeant (adorable but profound non fox), Gary Rhodes (massive, massive cock – sorry Dad, I know you were inexplicably a fan but the apple falls many miles from the tree on this one).

Boxes for foxes ticked: 2.75/8

There has been a lot of talk of glass ceilings in the media this week. No one, though, is talking about the glass ballroom floor that symbolises the sexual inequality of hotness on Strictly Come Dancing. Perhaps, on reflection, I can see why this is. But ultimately, the line-up is irrelevent as the Strictly soap opera irresistibly weaves its way around whatever celebrity bookings they've scraped together. And anyway, like some Saturday teatime translation of The Breakfast Club, there will always be, in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions:

The Princess Dead-behind-the eyes, highly competent but ultimately unlovable (Emma Bunton, Rachel Stevens)

The LadyJock Hideously ambitious former captain of Games, again may prove unpopular (Gaby Logan, horse-riding Jodie Kidd)

The Ladette (with apologies for hideous 90s terminology) Game girl with throaty laugh, adored by men and women (Alesha/La Snowdon)

The Puppy: Blandly attractive pet to be trained by high-maintenance Camilla Dallerup (James Martin/Gethin Jones/Tom Chambers)

The Geezer: Cheeky diminutive tryer who throws himself wholeheartedly into Carry On-style, nudge-and-a-wink-laden but ultimately slightly nauseating routines (Dominic Littlewood, Phil Daniels)

The Lurch: Starts badly, ends badly (Dennis Taylor, Quentin Wilson, John Sargeant)

The Journey Man: Sportsperson who goes on a sequinned voyage of self-discovery and learns to move his hips independently of other body parts (Darren Gough, Matt Dawson, Austin Healey (?))

The Journeyman: Works hard, improves steadily, nobody cares (Carol Smillie, Andrew Castle)

I could go on, but I have to go and work on my new-series Strictly Bingo Cards/Drinking Game. Wield your Mecca dobber/take a drink/have a Hobnob every time a) Arlene fluffs one of her pre-written over-alliterative comments, b) Anton makes desperate reference to his heterosexuality, c) any of the judges make a water-based pun when critiquing Mark Foster (thanks to Miss W for this entry)… You get the idea, I'm sure.