…Me. (And Pete the Meat).
We tied in a prestigious dancing competition last night. Our duet to ‘I’ve got a feelin’ by The Peas clearly sent the judges into a paroxysm of orgiastic delight.
Knickers were actually wet. I tell you.
Pete and I were like the Fonteyn and Nuryev of the Noughties.
Michael Jackson would have immediately signed us up as backing dancers.
In a word we were… STRICTLY.
(Quite honestly folks, you missed yourselves)
Yes, I know, I should be reading Proust or old speeches by Churchill or the history of the Ming Dynasty or something similar, but this week I’ve watched quite a bit, but not all, of Britain’s Got Talent.
And, you know what, despite some of it being truly awful, it is actually a heartelt and great piece of TV.
This is what ITV is invented for and why it still exists.
Simon Cowall calms it down; Piers Morgan grows even more likeably into his public persona, free of the shackles of editorship, and Amanda Holden is just a genuinely nice person that usuallly reflects the mood of the public.
I like this programme.
A truly adorable young lad, bullied at school, and singing soprano won on Monday night and must be the favourite.
Tonight a 12 year old schoolgirl (also a soprano) won by miles. It has to be said she does not look or act like a 12 year old. 26? OK, I’ll buy that.
My money’s on the boy.