Back on the floor

Well. I am back from Nova Scotia, Canada, where they really know how to party…

…and they have an entirely better class of McDonald's. 

In case your screen resolution is letting you down, that fancy yellow sign says 'Get your lobster sandwich before they are all gone.' Put that in your Happy Meal lunchbox and eat it.

I am a little drained after a night flight (not to be confused with a Nite Flite, the smooth soul compilation albums of the late 80s, and the only CDs owned by a cafe I worked in when I was 15. Even now I cannot hear Wishing On A Star by Rose Royce without thinking of jacket potatoes with prawns and Marie Rose sauce). Still, despite my fatigue, I have been diligently trying to assimilate all the Strictly Come Dancingness that has happened while I've been away. This much I can report:

• Is it OK that I never, ever want to see Gary Rhodes wiggling what I can only describe as his arse on my television again? Perhaps I'm trowelling this on a bit thick, but I must insist that if any part of him touched any part of me, even over clothing, I would simply have to vomit, instantly and explosively. He seems just the kind of person who might have watched I'm Alan Partridge and thought, 'Hey, who is this guy? We should get together and throw some ideas around.'

• After seeing Flavia and Vincent's relationship impaled on the rocks of glorious primetime last year, and Camilla heartbroken as a result of the Cole-Kaplinsky coupling (shudder) previously, who will be the victim of this year's Strictly Love Curse? I'm wondering about Ola and James Jordan. Ola is paired with Andrew Castle, who may not be the bland morning-sofa monkey he appears. He has already said he is 'enjoying' Ola. Christ! Shutupshutupshutupshutup. And Claudia Winkelman believes they have chemistry, which is good enough for me. But the frisson has a further dimension. James Jordan is clearly drawn to Andrew's sporting prowess, as the pair were shown enjoying a quick knockabout (not a metaphor etc) on a handy nearby tennis court when they should have been practising a group-dance pile-up. (Ola was Not At All Happy about this.) Furthermore,  I foresee another tussle between the two rutting stags over who has the coarsest, densest hair. James has the edge at the moment, as Andrew has yet to fully channel Wolverine when it comes to his grooming, as his rival is wont to do. The point is, who's to say this simmering vat of homoerotic competitiveness won't bubble over with a tide of undammable passion.

• Even if you are as tiny and hot as Ola, a PVC-effect animal-print catsuit is not a friend to any woman.
  

• Whichever scriptwriter was responsible for the line 'Strictly Come Dancing takes to the dancefloor' should be dismissed.

• Thank goodness the dementedly competitive Karen and Great Big Chump Gary were granted a reprieve from elimination. If Karen had finished in big fat last place two years running she might have ingested Bruno's toxic hair dye live on air or chained herself to the bumper of Len Goodman's Jag as some sort of protest.
  

A couple of dear readers have compiled a wishlist of potential Strictly contestants. It is perhaps a little ambitious – although hey, reach for the stars, BBC, and you sometimes land Stephanie Beacham – but it's certainly food for thought. The top of my list remains Richard Madeley, who was rumoured to be in this year's line-up many months ago. Just imagine a dancing triumvirate of Madeley, Rhodes and Partridge – a near-apocalyptic explosion of fist-pumping, over-exuberant dad-disco, kindled by smart-casual blazers and motivational slogans. Would television ever recover?