As I write this I am in a ground floor BBC dressing room, chuckling to myself because a couple of weeks ago I watched the BBC programme Watchdog. On that particular episode they really criticised the decor and quality of the rooms in holiday camps. The paint was scraped and chipped, the wallpaper was torn, the dressing table tops were water stained and scratched, and the chairs were dirty. Top secret revelation: I don’t think they bothered to go to the camps to get their video shots; they shot them in here! The TV doesn’t have any way of turning it on and the radio only works if you keep one hand touching it and you are the aerial. AND it’s freezing in here. To hell with the environment, I have switched on everything I can find to warm the place up so that my muscles won’t stiffen up. I know, I can hear you all now shouting ‘Paul, WHAT muscles?’.
Something else that REALLY surprises me about this building is that it has no WiFi area for the performers, the guests, or even more amazing, the staff.
Well, the rehearsals, band calls and lighting checks were all done and then the show started. I thought that Scott was really good, but so were many others. I took a real panning from the judges but I was delighted that I had remembered to do everything that was asked of me. The problem was that no one told the judges that we were doing a comedy dance, not the Rumba of Romance.
Strictly Come To Think of It though, how can I possible do a romantic sexy dance with a girl who could be my Grand-daughter? It would look equally ridiculous and possibly make me look like a dirty old man, which I might well be, but I don’t want to LOOK like one! Hey ho... the judges marked us well down, now it’s up to the public.