Strict Machine

Alesha told Rav that he gave the tango his hole, Tess Daly quoted T. S. Eliot, Bruce got everything wrong about It Takes Two, to an increasingly startled Claudia Winkleman. Yes, Strictly is back, and apart from the unwelcome loss of bossy dance legend Arlene Phillips it is a lot of fun.

Hilarious, brilliant Sonia from EastEnders, one of the best ever soap actresses, has already won it for me before the series had started. There's Joe Calzaghe, preposterously sexy beast, terrible dancer (poor Kristina...), to keep that bit of my brain and trousers occupied. And Lynda Bellingham, who's always been great value, even back in the soft porn films she made in the seventies, and was a total bloody treat this evening dancing her bonkers zombie tango.

There's reality TV slut Phil Tufnell, who we're all supposed to love because he's hilariously off his tits all the livelong day. I hate him, the drooling cretin. And there's also a whole load of people I have never heard of and will not remember when it's over: some sports presenter who looks like Ricky Gervais, and half the people who did the group dance, who could have been anybody.

But all the attention was on the judges. Alesha is a pointless, waffling addition as she has no expertise. Why didn't they ditch stupid Bruno if they wanted to bring in a new judge? No-one likes him and his shouting you are a beautiful swan at any woman who even steps on the floor. Oh, and Tess Daly, fuck off you talentless, witless stick insect. I cringe every time you attempt a joke, and even walking and smiling seems to test you to the very limits of your being.

That's my Saturdays (and the odd Friday) solved for the rest of the year. Cosy nights in with a packet of biscuits, licking the screen every time Joe pops up (don't get voted off you idiot). Lovely.