Piratical Patrick

I am currently sitting through an interminable programme titled “Swiss Railway Journeys” on the channel that time forgot. It’s one of Sir’s favourites and said channel are showing the whole series back to back over the next twenty four hours (yes there are that many railways in Switzerland) My suggestion that the train driver put his foot down to perhaps squeeze the programmes into a twelve hour period has sparked a conversation that somehow ended up with a two minute diatribe on the state of our roads and rail and how the Swiss maintain both despite extremes of temperature far in excess of our own. I confidently predict that every time our car enters the pothole at the end of the road this viewpoint will be repeated ad nauseam. The venting of the spleen has however saved me from the full series of crazy railroad capers, which is now being recorded for later on while Sir retires to his shed to engage the dark forces of Network South East through the medium of Warhammer.

Left alone, and with the relentless advance of Candy Crush temporarily quelled, I can turn over to the jungle where Vincent Simone has inexplicably been voted out. A talent for the Argentine Tango may not be top of the kit list for jungle survival but I had money on him making the last six, I mean, what’s not to like? He did make a fairer fist of it than the last hoofer to take on the bush tucker trials, Camilla broke down in tears on day three and was seamlessly switched for Joe Bugner, the job swap suited the fragile Dallerup who returned to the outside world to fill Bugner’s boots and in the two weeks that followed significantly raised sales in the boxer’s popular table top grill.

Or was that another boxer?

I may have got that bit mixed up.

The controversy over contraband has proved very interesting and Amy was the first to be hauled up before the beak over her concealer, foundation and chewing gum. A camp search for camp David’s needle and thread and Steve’s snooker table is imminent. Somebody is cutting hair, so there's a pair of scissors or a hairdresser hidden away somewhere, and there was definitely something tucked away in Vincent’s short shorts.

At this point I would like to cast my professional eye over the potential of the remaining contestants on all things Strictly. But first could I endorse the view of the judges with regard to last week’s show, Mark had been on borrowed time for a few weeks, we all like a larger frame that can carry a beat and move with rhythm, timing and steady top line, but where was the bounce in that Samba? The heat is on in this competition and they all would do well to take on board the mantra that was drilled into us from an early age:

You want Fame, well fame costs, and right here’s where you start paying in sweat!



Yes Mark ,it was time to go, you will be missed but not as much as Yvette, the deadpan Lithuanian who has potential as a Bond Villain, or the Joanna Lumley role in a remake of Sapphire & Steel.

In a competition that has been dominated by the ladies, it is Patrick that has caught my eye. Initially insipid he has improved week on week , and what great shape for a man of sixty, whatever diet and fitness regime he is on it sure is working. The flash of his smile and the twinkle in his eye must melt many a heart and the earring hints at gypsy roots or possibly something piratical (not Somalian)as he is threatening to creep up and steal the spoils from under the nose of early favourite Natalie.

Ok, his last dance was a Charlston which seems to be a "shoe in" for high marks this year, but his quickstep the previous week was a triumph, and I would suggest, under marked. Ashley is the only other celebrity male remaining and if he doesn’t sort his head out, (the angle not its mental state) has no hope of making the final; like a Costa cup of coffee, Ola has maximised value/profit from low value ingredients.

I don’t think there are too many miles left in Susanna, although Kevin will be missed, and with the jive out of the way Sophie and Brendon are destined to finish fourth if the dances fall their way.
Alongside Patrick the only two contenders for the glitter ball crown are Abbey and Natalie. I must confess I didn’t expect to warm to Abbey, pre-judged on the back of a career forged in Hello and Ok, she has been a revelation and where on earth did she find that Russian? The moment the camera first fell on his face the earth shook, as countrywide, a frisson shot through a million female hearts. A simply stunning specimen of a man and a top top dancer to boot. Born in a different time, like Anton, he would have been hailed as a god, not of this species but hewn from diamonds. I’d better stop there, their salsa was the best dance of the series so far.

Natalie is a trained professional dancer, she has to be, I can’t tell the difference, which for some reason irks me although I do like watching her dance, incidentally there is a checkout assistant in our local Tesco who looks and speaks like Artem. I seek him out each week but have yet to ask him if he is Artem, a relation, or a dancer. There is always a long all female queue for his till so it can’t just be me, although I do have to be careful as I found myself singing “There’s a guy works down our Tesco swears he’s Artem” under my breath while packing my bags. As ever the hardest two dances for the Celebrities have been the Cha Cha Cha and the jive, which for my money demonstrates just what a great champion Jill Halfpenny was. Her jive was breathtaking and confirms her as the best there has ever been, save Mark Ramprakash,

and Harry Judd.

Oh, and Kara Tointon.

Louis! Louis Smith!

but not Chris Hollins..... no, not Chris Hollins.



I’d better stop there, I can hear the warrior brave returning from the slaughter of the Warhammer battlefield, I’d better prepare the laurels for the slayer of the dark forces of Network South East and ready myself for another Swiss railway journey.