Strictly: Week one - Friday

First of all, I like the new set. It’s perhaps sacrificed the charm and cosiness of the old set for extra floor space, extra glitter and (the cynic in me says) extra audience members but it certainly looks like a stage worthy of an extravaganza like Strictly. In particular, I love the steps leading up to Tess Daly’s backstage interview room. Not primarily because it looks glam and glitzy, but because you just know that sooner or later one of the ladies is going to get her heel caught in her dress whilst running up the stairs, whereupon she will fall smack on her chin. Most people would be horrified at the idea, but I like a good pratfall to enliven proceedings.

The judges seemed rather mellow on Friday’s show. Saving it up for later? Len and Bruno not yet jetlagged enough? Bruno seemed positively restrained despite his best rendition of a giraffe stuck on an electric fence whilst describing Goldie’s 1980s dance moves! Craig’s judging technique always reminds me of a snake under a stone, eying up some poor defenceless critter for supper, although he seems like a genuinely delightful guy. Not for the first time I actually found myself agreeing more or less with everything he said.

And so, on to the contestants. First up, sparkling, twinkling Felicity Kendal in a lovely golden dress that really suited her. She has such a neat figure! All her acting skills were brought to the fore and she definitely seemed to play up to Vincent during their cha-cha-cha, but Master Simone had obviously tailored the dance to suit a slightly older person, with the result that every flaw and wrongly-timed step was painfully heightened. I’ve seen far, far worse than this to be honest, and it was by no stretch of the imagination a bad dance. Even when her footwork seemed to lose its way, Felicity had the acting chops to make sure it didn’t show too much on her face. I like her a lot: she managed to bring a flavour of her personality to the dance floor, but I do think she is going to be much better at ballroom than Latin, like so many before her.

Scott Maslen: yeah, the shouty bloke wots in EastEnders. A bit hit or miss for me: mostly because he was afraid to smile. It’s a waltz! It’s meant to be beautiful, flowing and magical! It’s the dance equivalent of candyfloss: sweet and sugary! So why did Scott dance it like he was at somebody’s wake??? SMILE Scott! I want people to make me believe they are enjoying the experience of dancing for millions of unseen people up and down the country, not that they are concentrating on making sure they don’t projectile vomit over their partner!

Actually, I’d quite like to see that too, as well as the pratfall on the stairs. I’m weird that way.

That said, my issue was really with the choreography (to a small extent). A raunchy waltz sort of goes against the grain. I’m all for artistic re-interpretation but if you lose the flavour of the dance you may as well be doing the Locomotion...

It was, however, very well danced. No posture issues that I could tell. Give him a tango and he’ll be, as they say in Albert Square, “sorted.” A very good start.

Goldie. Well, how can you not love a man who shares his name with one of Blue Peter’s dogs? At first I thought the hyperactivity was going to make me go off him a little. I can take it in small doses: Chris Hollins was a Hobbity-sized package of fun last year. But then one man’s Hollins is another man’s Dom Littlewood (who actually made me want to chuck stickle bricks at him whenever he came on the screen), and that’s the kind of cheeky chappy-ness I find detestable. Thankfully, there’s nothing put on about Goldie. He is what you see: a man in search of his next Ritalin fix. He’s a walking E-number: a massive blue smartie on legs. He is, like his namesake, a bounding, friendly Labrador with his tongue hanging out, waiting to be thrown a stick. I kind of like that.

In charge of the stick-throwing is handler Kristina. She’s had a rough time dance-wise on Strictly. First there was John ‘quick-march’ Sergeant. Then there was Joe ‘Sting like a butterfly, dance like a frog’ Calzaghe. I never thought I would be sorry for Kristina, but I am. She has her work cut out again this year. Thank god she got to dance with Ramps on the Strictly tour earlier this year, or else she might be wondering what she had to do to dance with a man who knows his samba from his elbow!

For the record, the dance was...okay. Ish. It was actually stark, raving bonkers but Kristina at least did get across the fun personality that Goldie has, even if it resembled a giant acid trip in a 1980s disco! What was with the arm stuff? I roared with laughter! But, whilst it wasn’t great, I ended up smiling – for the right reasons. And there’s no doubt that Goldie has that innate sense of musicality and rhythm that some seem to lack.

Ah...now we get to the disappointment of the evening. I don’t say that to be cruel, but because I think there were quite high hopes for Patsy Kensit. Her waltz started okay but suddenly she seemed to become cripplingly aware of her surroundings and just...freeze. To her credit she kept going, but it was painfully obvious that she was absolutely terrified! Her lack of confidence meant that her partner had to steer her rather than dance with her, resulting in some unsightly gapping between the two bodies. She looked so frightened, poor thing! If she can draw on her abilities as an actress and look on it as a performance rather than feeling like an exposed, startled bunny on the M1 then she may do well given time. That, of course, depends on whether she survives next week...

Matt Baker. I want to call him ‘Ma Baker’ after the song! I think Aliona has this right: he’s got the moves, but he has the sex appeal of a fluff covered-boiled sweet that’s lain undiscovered in someone’s pocket for two months. The cha-cha hips were much in evidence, the timing equally impressive, and although I can’t stand the gimmicky routines that seem to have crept, DWTS-style, across the pond this year there’s no doubting he was pretty much on the money in his first dance. Mind you, whilst I believe in bringing as much of yourself and your skills to a dance, the gymnastics at the start – or ‘showing off’ as I like to call it – was totally wasted on me, hard-hearted b*tch that I am. Sorry Matt! Close, but no cigar my son. The insane, lunatic grin was quite distracting. You need to swap places with Scott M a little. He desperately needed to smile, whilst you needed to concentrate on not looking as if you were a serial killer on the lookout for some limbs to scatter...

Pamela Stevenson, aka Mrs Connolly. What a pleasant surprise! She really appeared to be relaxed, and enjoying the experience. Whether that’s true or not only she will be able to say, but it was an accomplished and beautiful attempt at a waltz, and for me was the dance of the evening. Yes, she even topped the mad-cart wheeling, sheep-watching Matt Baker! It was an assured and beautiful performance, with really good footwork and (take note, Patsy) no gapping! If she has psycho-analysed herself prior to dancing it certainly worked. A really interesting pairing here, as she seems to be a really good foil for James. His metamorphosis from series 4 bad boy, telling Georgina she was a lazy, overweight moo and confiscating her chocolate bars, to engaging, slightly mischievous instructor continues.

And please, folks. Let James get past samba week this time. Please?!?

Last and quite possibly least; the diminutive Paul Daniels. Now, Paul is 72 years old. I didn’t appreciate that, to be honest. And whilst age shouldn’t really play a part in the way we perceive people, I would like to say that for someone who has notched up seven decades plus that he actually did rather well! Yes, it was a dance dis-arrrrr-ster, as the Revel-Horwood is prone to saying, but Paul is actually mighty nippy on his feet! And again, he did his own thing – and in his own time – but he put effort into it. He’s not without rhythm: I’m not sure the 2 from Craig was entirely justified! He’s better than Quentin, Richard Dunwoody and John Sergeant already! Although I grant you, that’s probably not an ideal bench-mark to measure your achievements against. But whilst it was a bit woeful, once again it made me smile! No doubt he’ll be one of the first to go but I think Paul has to be given some credit; certainly more than he got last night.

And that, as they say, is the end of part one! Now we are back down to a more sensible 14 couples the BBC has decreed that this year there will be no vote on week one. The remaining 7 couples dance on Saturday and their scores all carried over to next week. I suppose that’s fairer than having the boys week/girls week malarkey we’ve had in recent years, with an ejection before we’ve even got to know the couples properly. This time next week we will have our first elimination, presided over by the glamorous Tess Daly (who thankfully no longer seems to be dressing in duvet covers and old curtains) and the delightful Claudia ‘I’m one tadpole short of a box of frogs’ Winkleman.

I’m already rubbing my hands at the prospect!