Tags
Betty Grable, Botafogo, Bruno Tonioli, Claudia Winkelman, Craig Revel Horwood, dance-off, Darcy Bussell, Duchess of Cambridge, Elton John, gigolo, glitter ball, It Takes Two, Len's lens, maracas, Pasha, pickle my walnuts, Pippa Middleton, Pixie Lott, promenade position, rear spoiler, Renault, rigor mortis, Shimmy, sprung floor, Strictly, Tess Daly, twerking, varifocals
And now please welcome witty and glitzy raconteuse, Candia Dixon-Stuart
and her gorgeous gigolo partner, Pasha Kovalev. Tonight they will be
twerking to…
It was really difficult to negotiate those stairs with the strobe lighting
which flickered from the glitter ball almost inducing an epileptic fit in me.
Without my varifocals I was entirely relying on Pasha’s supporting arm to
deliver me safely to the sprung floor.
Claudia blinked vacantly at me from under her veritable thatch of a fringe.
Her pale lippy gave her a look of rigor mortis– more so than The Human
Ironing Board‘s dazzling smile.
The orchestra struck up our number: I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister
Kate. I truly wished that a member of our Suttonford sorority could have
stood in my shoes, whether she shared a name with The Duchess of
Cambridge, or not. Come to think of it, Pippa would not suffer from
such self-doubt. I bet she could shake her rear spoiler to good effect.
Maybe she will be invited on the show, if she is not too busy babysitting…
Watershed, or not, our song referenced some murdered brothel madam
called Kate Townsend- but not many people would have known that.
Oh well, I would just have to try to shake my beading to its Pixie limit.
I adopted my promenade position.
It was all over in a flash. Pasha had to carry me over to Tess, who
brushed a few sequins from my shoulder.
Put her down, Pasha, she hissed. You’ll do yourself an injury!
Ohhh, Candia, darling! All the boys are going wild over sister Katie’s
style. Unfortunately...here Bruno fell onto the floor, laughing, and
had to grab Len’s arm to hoist himself back into his chair...you are not
called Kate, are you? Maybe you were adopted. He pursed his lips in a
pseudo pout which anyone could tell was ironic, nay sarcastic.
Clearly I won’t be invited to one of his all-night parties with Elton John.
Darcy tried to be kind:
Wow, Candia. You came out here and owned that floor. Pasha gave
you a really challenging routine and you…Well, if you could develop your
core strength more and fully extend your arms, finishing your lines..She
concluded lamely, reaching for her empathetic ‘five‘. Basically that
was the equivalent of a negative number from Craig’s arsenal.
We were now under Len’s lens. I think our lift was legal, but he clearly
was not going to pickle his walnuts. Instead he reached under the table
and produced his maracas.
You see, it takes some time for the seeds to pass across to the solid wall
of the coconut shell, so you have to anticipate the beat. He demonstrated
by waving them over his head and saying, Um cha cha; um cha cha!
It was as clear as mud.
You came out and gave it some welly, but it looked as if you were wearing
gumboots while you were at it, he added, a trifle unkindly. It was one of
his more moody evenings, clearly.
I blushed under the fake tan. Pasha gripped my arm. Keep smiling, he
whispered.
To reference the original song, Craig drawled, you didn’t shimmy like a jelly
on a plate, darling. You did, however, look as if you were in a trance. I’ve
seen more successful posterior rotation in a Renault advert. Your left hand
was positively splayed and your performance was nothing less than
flat-footed. Strictly-speaking, Betty Grable you were not.
I wanted to remonstrate that I hadn’t been able to get my orthotic insoles
into the high-heeled shiny slippers, but they would have thought I was just
trying for a sympathy vote, so I desisted and I will never know how I got up
those stairs, trying to shield my bouncing bosoms with my non-splayed hand
from an overhead camera which zoomed in on cleavage.
Claudia was rabbiting on about getting permission to use someone else’s
mobile.
Please, please, I mimed desperately. I didn’t want to be in the dance-off.
Actually, I didn’t want to be there at all. I knew my bum looked big in my
outfit. The massive peacock feather tail didn’t help. I’d told them peacocks
were unlucky, but they just told me to break a leg. And I nearly did!
The scores were in. No ‘seven’ from Len. A predictable ‘five‘ from Darcy.
Bless. Bruno stole a sidelong glance at Len and replicated his score.
Craig produced a card I had never seen before. It said minus two.
He was obviously feeling generous.
Bottom of the leader board. How embarrassing! However, my public
may save me. I may live to fight another day and that glamorous natural
mover who keeps scoring nines and tens may be on her way out.
I thought I was going to faint. Pasha caught me in his arms. It was
all worth it!
Dancing for us next week is…
But as my eyes re-focussed, I saw the shadowy outline of The Husband
bearing my morning cuppa. He didn’t look anything like Pasha, even with
his shirt off.
What’s wrong? he asked solicitously. You were muttering something about
botafogas.
Hmmm, I replied. It takes two, babe. Thanks for the tea.
He plumped up my pillows and I tried to sit up, but something was irritating
me. I was sitting on a sequin. Weird!
Ah well., at least when I go into Costamuchamoulah must-seen cafe I won’t
be besieged by boa-toting women shrieking, Keep Dancing!
Instead of shaking that ass, I will just keep kicking it. And if you keep giving
me ‘likes‘ it will be the nearest thing I’ll ever experience to holding that trophy
aloft!
Candia Comes Clean 