So here we are, halfway through the sparkliest competition on the box, and when Lulu went out I doubt anyone was more shocked to still be in it than me – well, apart from Russell, who looked as if he might combust following his amazing performance as the campest matador Britain’s ever seen!
At the beginning of Strictly, the question on every journalist’s lips was, “How far can you go?” Now, even though my head screamed, “Probably not very far”, my heart had set its sights on dancing in the special Strictly show from Wembley Arena. Now all of a sudden, Wembley is just around the corner. Only eight remaining contestants will get to dance live in front of a 6,000- strong crowd – just typing that is enough to bring on the butterflies.
Looking back at my first cha-cha-cha, all I can remember feeling is terror and zero enjoyment, but as the weeks have gone by, I’ve started to enjoy that adrenaline buzz more and more. Strutting our stuff has become an addiction.
So, it really is time to knuckle down if the dream of Wembley is to become a reality. Apart from a break every day to join Matt on the One Show sofa, I’m pretty much permanently sweating pints in the dance studio. Every new routine is harder than the last, and more difficult to learn, and I’ve tested James’s patience to the extreme.
Not only that, but there is a sense of cabin fever as two people who were complete strangers only eight weeks ago are now spending every hour under the sun together! Luckily, even when James is reaching the end of his tether at rehearsal, we always leave the studio laughing!
We will attack the jive with gusto, and pray my heel doesn’t get caught in my dress as it did during the quickstep, and that we don’t end up sprawled on the floor. I do have to thank Craig, though, for pointing out that we’d suffered a wardrobe malfunction, which hampered our routine. It’s safe to say he and I have buried the hatchet after what I now call “Rumbagate”.