There is no way to make this story sound manly
so I'm not even going to try. I'd also like to state for the record that the definition of "celebrtity" is about to be stretched somewhat.

In 2008, the BBC in the East of England ran several events for Children in Need, in which local radio and TV broadcasters were paired with students from local dance schools to take part in a Strictly Come Dancing-style competition. I'm sure you can guess at this point why manliness is about to leave the building. I was paired with Look East newsreader Amelia Reynolds which was a blinding stroke of luck - she was keen, very fit (she was in training for the London marathon at the time - when she told me this I blurted out, "Oh I'll be able to see you on telly" - to a NEWSREADER) and the same height as my girlfriend (seriously! I do have one!) who's my regular dance partner, so it was easy to teach her some basic routines.

As the time ticked by until the event I got more and more confident as it became apparent that no-one was taking it quite as seriously as us. I'm not actually that good at ballroom and never won owt, so this was uncharted territory for me. On the night everyone most people were bricking it, which only made me more of a cocky twat. We made the final 3 and had to dance Jive, which was what we were hoping for. I remember standing aside watching another couple do their Cha Cha Cha and practising my victory speech, which I had promised myself would not contain the words "FUCK YEAH" at any point.

I don't know how familiar any of you are with the Jive but it's a very high-energy dance. In most competitions you'd only have to dance for about 90 seconds. But not here. Oh no. They had a live big band and we had to Jive for the full 4 minutes. I realised the wheels were coming off the victory wagon when my legs started to feel like THEY WERE SET IN FUCKING CONCRETE. Mistakes happen when your legs won't move quickly enough. In front of a couple of hundred people. And TV cameras.

The scores came up. We lost. By one point. 38 out of 40 (they obviously weren't watching) for us, the other couple got 39. There was a prize presentation, a closing group dance, and then we had to smile for cameras, give little soundbites about what a great experience it had been, what a good cause it was. It took me about 15 minutes to get away upstairs and find an empty in room in which to cry out

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCKKKKK

ONE

FUCKING

POINT

bollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocksbollocks

But my parents were well chuffed when this cropped up online



I'm the twat in the silly red tie.


(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 11:46, 2 replies)

*watches*
and cracks one out.


jus cos
(EvilMeister, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 17:07, closed)

You're not the first
and you won't be the last.

Neither of the above statements is true
(Darth Foxtrot A one-man army dedicated to making fetch happen, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 17:28, closed)