Strictly Come Dancing in a Nutshell

As the subtitles roll, the men and women are proudly parading enough silk and sequins to rival any red carpet. They twirl and pose with grins and glitz and glamour, in scorn of the grumpy weather outside. Yes, it’s Strictly Come Dancing, that time of the year again when Saturday evenings can be spent snuggling on the sofa with family, watching couples shimmering around the dance floor.

Bruce Forsyth and Tess Daly are the smiling hosts of the show, and they play their roles well. Bruce, the lovable TV legend and national treasure, perplexes the younger generations with bizarre catchphrases that apparently relate to his older television appearances. Still you can’t help but feel sort of protective towards him and his whiskery face. That is, until he cracks another of his ‘jokes’ speedily spreading confusion and groaning across the country.

Tess is always ready to keep up the morale of the couples once they’ve run backstage. She may look polished and relaxed in her rainbow-hued evening gowns but it can’t be easy for her, knowing what to say to make people talk, then stop when “the scores are in.” She is like sunshiny polyfilla, doing hard graft under pressure but making it all look seamless.

Claudia Winkleman is the third side of the Strictly Come Dancing presenting triangle with the talk show “It Takes Two” on weekdays. For the hardcore fans, Claudia interviews the performers and catches up with the training and gossip, all whilst wearing plentiful eyeliner and killer heels. We see a different side to the judges and dancers whilst they sit on her sofa. “Mean” Craig Revel Horwood always seems positively bubbly!

Bruno Tonioli is the notoriously flamboyant judge, frequently hopping up from his seat to gesture, roll his ‘r’s and just generally be very dramatic – darling! Alesha Dixon has been through the Strictly process herself and won it in 2007, so she has a closer understanding of how the contestants feel and the people at home. She has faced a lot of media backlash since she replaced Arlene Philips (plus the whole BBC being ageist malarkey, since Phillips is 60+ and has apparently been replaced by a “younger model”), but Alesha has handled it well, and adds a fresh dimension to the panel, complete with raucous laugh.

Head judge Len Goodman leads the gang of four. Over the series’ he has emerged as a stickler for the rules. As long as the couple goes out there and attacks the dance, they may well be able to earn one of his coveted “sev-en!”s out of ten, as he has a reputation for being fairly lenient. But beware, you have to steer clear of too much flouncing around at the beginning of the dance - when Len gets wound up, a low score from him can seriously dent your position in the leaderboard.

 

Of course, the show wouldn’t be anything without the contestants – soap stars, TV presenters and sports stars. Just a few stick out in my mind at the moment: Natalie Cassidy with her contagious enthusiasm, Phil Tufnell and his gyrating derriere and cuddly Chris Hollins partnered up with Ola Jordan – Miss Whiplash! Craig Kelly, the ex-Eastender doesn't come off as nice person or cute. He's getting through by emotionally twisting the British public, just so he can "Get to Blackpool", which is where Strictly will be hosted next week. This has meant better couples than him like Zoe Lucker (and her ridiculously low self-esteem) and James have been kicked off earlier than expected. Is this fair? next week hopefully we can finally bid him farewell.

Every week I am equally entertained and caught up in the magic that is the dancing. Each dance is like another personality in the programme. The rumba is like the mysterious sexy stranger, and the viennese waltz like a romantic but dizzy friend. The jive or cha cha cha are my favourites. Perhaps they’re a pair of energetic cousins who like to kick things?

The professional dancers are there to teach and support their budding celebrities, as well as single-handledly choreographing the routines. When they dance, people watch. Sometimes with the celebrities the beautiful costumes and music catch my attention more than the steps, but when the professionals do a group dance it’s so exciting and perfect. I can’t take my eyes off the screen. Of course we still get to know them really well, and sort the genuinely nice from the over-competitive or self-absorbed. My favourites are Ian Waite, Flavia Cacace, Vincent Simone and Erin Boag. I really dislike James Jordan and Anton du Beke!

As the weeks of training and sparkly shows go on and as the Christmas final approaches, I get more and more entranced. The dancing will improve and the bonds between professional and celebrity will strengthen (or crack?). Maybe Craig will be pushed into dusting down his elusive golden 10 paddle. At the end of each show, I always feel inspired to turn up the music, leap off the sofa and dance like nobody’s watching! The newspaper may say that the X Factor got over 13 million viewers last week, compared to dear Strictly Come Dancing’s mere 9 million, but for me it’s clear which is the winner.

I feel like I should go find a tube of glitter now and scatter it all over this blog spot so it looks the part!

The Sixth Form Centre

In England, after year 11 (16 years old) once you’ve received your GCSE results you can leave school or stay on at either a college or Sixth Form – which the majority of people do. A few of my friends left, but most people have remained, myself included. This way you can study for your A levels without leaving your comfort zone, and you get all sorts of exciting perks.

Those are the facts, but real life is a little different.

We get a weeks holiday halfway through the term in England (I know – it’s been half a term already!). I feel a little silly taking a break when I’ve only just started, but then I look back on the 5 or so weeks it’s been, remember the new games learnt, essays written, notes scribbled and I gulp. It seems impossible. I so need a break. I so don’t want to do any of that again at least for a week (which isn’t going to happen anyway, thanks to 2 history essays, 1 english essay, a load of french and spanish exercises and history note-taking. Oh, and one teacher has suggested this is the perfect time to start our revision. Thanks, thanks for that.)

A short break means there’s going to be a short period of winding down at school before the whole thing closes. And a period of winding down means that the last hour, period 5 Friday is going to be a bit of an academically-lacking experience, especially if you have a free period. Like me.

The Sixth Form Centre is the common room, the main hustle and bustle of all Sixth Form life. You come here to go to the office and talk to the heads about problems and official business, and at the other end of the scale, not 2m away, is the cheerful sea of tables and chairs where teenagers sit chatting and begging money off each other to buy buttery bagels and cups of tea. When your brain is feeling a little on the slow side, the warmth and chatter always envelops you, comforting and energising in one whiff. 

The two  sides of the oval room are distinguished by furniture – comfy green chairs near the big window, for views of the field outside (complete with yelling blue and maroon figures) and wooden tables and chairs on the side with the cafe, for official activities like eating and playing ‘slam’. It’s home and you can tell. It’s cosy, a place to work, read and talk. You can drag up chairs, still warm from their previous lounging inhabitants, or hop between groups of people. When you’re sitting with friends, a whole free period stretching ahead of you along with the possibility of buying some flapjack, it’s truly heaven. It must be the same feeling of belonging, of reduced pressure and of happy heat that a stone would feel when it’s been arranged in a circle around a fire: not too hot or scary, safe and with people like you. This is the most important place, and from 9:30am until 4pm it’s crammed full of navy and grey-suited young adults.

On the far side of the large room is the cafe I’ve already mentioned. It’s really a hatch in the wall with a busy but friendly face protruding. She’ll tap your purchase into the register and whip it up with the help of her colleagues in no time at all. And you can choose fruit from a little basket, or a muffin or cookie (blueberry or chocolate!). To the left you can grab a drink or sandwich from the cooler or some other snack, like carrot cake (my personal favourite)! Once prepared, the order is shouted out and calls of “79!” “18!” frequently punctuate the common room soundtrack, sparking off their own mini discussions: “Was that my number?”. Then you can pop up to collect your panini, or ice cream, or whatever treat you have scraped together enough pennies to buy - because you never have enough money to completely satisfy temptation…

Cards is the main activity for relaxing sixth formers who wish to chill on their frees. Especially 3pm Friday, the groups who remain give frequent exclamations of delight or frustration; why else are they still here after all? Who’s really going to be buckling down with just 60 (no wait, 59!) minutes to go? People are playing Slam, Cheat, Naughty Word Game, Speed, Pontoon, Irish Snap or Tens. When you list the favourites like that, I guess we seem a little mad! Card names are bizarre.

“Can I borrow your cards?”

“Do you want to play?”

“I was there when this game was invented!”

This game ‘slam’ is the main game played in the Sixth Form centre. It’s a sort of quick thinking version of Patience but you have to outwit and out-speed your opponent to succeed in running out of cards. However, because it’s so directly combative it can be easy to offend. Personally, I am far too competitive for my own good, so it wouldn’t hurt to win a game or two either! Although you have to tread very carefully. And as the minutes tick speedily by, the pack of cards get slowly more sticky and bent, mirroring the reddening of people’s cheeks.

The last hour before you break up on a Friday, things are even more vague (Yes, that brown stain on the carpet is from when a banana fell on the floor and got trodden on). The voices are just that little bit louder and more hysterical. The furniture is a complete tip – it’s a wonder the wooden chairs haven’t all emigrated over to catch a view of the rugby players, and that only, say, 50% of the green chairs have ended up huddling near the food. So much for distinction.

It’s a wonderful place to be, and I’m enjoying it a lot, but it is still so good to have a week of rest!

I’m sure November is a quiet time for blogging anyway, I think I can remember that sort of vague trend from last year. Maybe the newly icy weather takes us by surprise, and it takes us a month or so to get used to it and prise ourselves away from our cosy living rooms. People left such lovely comments when I vanished for 3 months I just had to make myself get back into the blogging spirit of things! Thanks everyone for being so patient – I wrote a longer post just for you! Here is a video chronicling my penly struggles to get back into the blogging game – why do none of the pens work??

Hiking in the Lake District

Alas! Seemingly all the big things that happen in my life seem to get immortalised in articles instead of blog posts! (Just sent article on Lake District holiday to editor). Luckily, I had loads left to say about the rolling green mountains and shimmering lakes that just wouldn't squeeze into the mean 600 words, so can put some photographs and writing here too. Yay! Am trying to avoid overlap, so for full story people might have to wait until August when article goes on t'internet.

(Wastwater Youth Hostel)(Both: Trees by Wastwater Lake) We set off all eager from the youth hostel at Wastwater Lake on the first day. Our boots were covered in only a light film of dust, from easy strolls around the Peak District at home. We had yet to experience the soggy and harsh District de la Lakes where climbing 600m is a "day of rest". Or I least I hadn't - my dad and brother who accompanied me had already done a similar 'manly' post-GSCE holiday 2 years before. (Trees, brother and dad by Wastwater Lake)(The sunset on the hills surrounding Black Sail Hostel and stone corner of hostel)(Sunset)
The first day was the most difficult. Having decided that since Sca Fell (964m) and Scafell Pike (highest point in England at 978m) were seperated by a mere 14m it would be a positive breeze to tick both boxes in the same day, as well as face a difficult walk from Wastwater to the small Black Sail youth hostel. Shockingly, this place has no road access, plugs, proper plumbing, and sleeps only 16 people! Sca Fell is very difficult. The scree cloaking the steep slopes means each step slips a little, damaging your muscles and your morale! But all you can do is just keep marching along, focusing on the top and the views that await. What we forgot, of course, was the fact that these mountains are seperated by a whopping great ravine, so you have to undo all that sweating and aching on the way up, skid down the slope and walk all the way back up again to do both.

(The view from Scafell Pike)

(My rucksack and boots)

Nearly all my photographs from the 4 days are of views - nowhere near as interesting as the colourful foreign land of Barcelona. But there is a lot of beauty in the lakes and hills, particularly in the sun. It's just when the notorious mountain mists come down and blur it all that you're left wondering whether that bit of rocky crag with a grassy hill in the background is Kirk Fell, or Green Gables, or Pillar, or Haystacks...(On the way up Sca Fell)

(Both: cute sheep at the top of Pillar, who investigated our cheese and onion crisps)

We had all the cool equipment - and this is an area I really enjoy. When you're a "serious hiker" (which I now feel more than qualified to flatter myself with, particularly after the 12 hour Sca Fell/Scafell Pike exhausting disaster of the first day) you look the part. You have beautiful walking boots and tanned skin and midge bites. In your 35l rucksack you have waterproof over-trousers and a cagoule which you are (of course) incredibly practised at ripping out and wriggling into, the second a water drop or a white swirl of mist touch your sunburnt nose. And when at the youth hostel and enjoying talking to all the friendly people there, you can proudly state that you are going to walk up Helvellyn (950m) later in the week and listen to all the interesting stories of the hills they have climbed. You can nod enthusiatsically as they talk of Scafell Pike and fabulous scenic views!(A pool/stream to cool our aching feet in at Black Sail at the end of the day) (Both: Sheep at the front door of Black Sail)

Helvellyn was not very fun to climb actually. The classic way of doing it is to go up Striding Edge (the rocky ridge leading up one side of the mountain) then to go down Swirrel Edge (similar ridge on opposite side). Unfortunately, it is nothing like steady plodding becuase to navigate the ridge one has to clamber all over dangerous-looking crags and things. When we reached the top we enjoyed the great view. Helvellyn surrounds a deep blue lake at the bottom called Red Tarn. Then the mist came down and we had the fun game of who can whip out and don their waterproof gear first. (My beautiful wonderful boot)(My brother and I at the top of Helvellyn)

(Striding Edge)

It was a beautiful and challenging adventure, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Exam Freedom

If you asked young people, I'd expect that the worst week of their lives is probably going to be someone around the exam period. It's stressful and filled with worry about marks and the future - eurgh. The good thing about this is that when the bad stuff ends, the freedom and happiness that is Summer is all the more wonderful!
Basically I have little more responsibility until September - it's all just day after day of sun and friends. Picnics, lunches, and more things planned! France, the lake District (climbing Scafell Pike and Hellvelyn) and my Silver D of E expeditions. It's fabulous!
The exams went okay. The only problem is, I'm very competitive and also sort of a perfectionist, so I hope I'm satisfied come August when I get the results. Then it's Sixth Form for me and more responsibility. Bleh.
It's still hot and sunny outside, so I'm off to relax and enjoy myself. Expect an actual easyopen smile soon! Thank you for all the good luck wishes.

Exams

So I'm deep into the scary, stressful month that is GCSE exams. My days swing between revision, and pancakes for lunch. And then a long, tiring exam.
Expect me back in a cheerful blogging mood and filled with exciting facts to entertain you all with when they are all over, aproximately 20th June. Wish me luck!

A Good Read

I was inspired by the Vlogemotions carnival happening at Fort Thompson to produce a sort of video blog. The list of people there trying out the scary procedure for the first time made me really eager! Combine this with my desire to tell my readers about my bountiful bookcase and personal reading tastes, and you have yourself this post! I was a little nervous and a slight cold didn't exactly help matters, but thanks to a little chopping in Windows Movie Maker it all turned out great.

Books Mentioned During the Video
Red = recommended (by me) for all ages
Starred with blue star (*) = my absolute favourites

Ruby Holler by Sharon Creech

*Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli

*Lucas by Kevin Brooks

Candy by Kevin Brooks

*Witch Child by Celia Rees

Sorceress by Celia Rees

Waking Dream by Rhiannon Lassiter

Paralysed by Sherry Ashworth

Inkheart by Cornelia Funke

*Feeling Sorry for Celia by Jaclyn Moriarty

Calling Cassie Crazy by Jaclyn Moriarty

Becoming Bindi Mackenzie by Jaclyn Moriarty

Guitar Girl by Sarra Manning

Festival by David Belbin
*Last Chance by Sarah Dessen

*Voices by Sue Mayfield

*This Lullaby by Sarah Dessen

*Before I Die by Jenny Downham

*Noughts and Crosses by Malorie Blackman

Knife Edge by Malorie Blackman

Checkmate by Malorie Blackman

Red Sky in the Morning by Elizabeth Laird

Reckless by Sue Mayfield

Midnight

An idea copied from Anna at LIFE: My Personal, Psychosomatic Playground. Why not write a post on paper and scan it in? I've provided a typed version at the bottom (although that doesn't include the doodles and pictures) if my handwriting proves too difficult to read! Click to enlarge and zoom in on photo.
[It’s the magic hour.
I’ve just slid in the front door, tiptoeing from the cool dark outside to the soft lighting of the indoors. I’m smiling – I love babysitting and I love the freedom and power that the late night has provided. I lock up, excited.
I could do anything right now. The house is my oyster. I could go and eat a yogurt or I could make pancakes. I place the keys on the kitchen table and flick off the light. In the living room my mind flits to the possibility of finishing that programme I was watching, or writing a blog post. It’s so late anyway, and the silence so warm and comfortable that another hour would make no difference. I could just dance – just leap up and throw some noiseless cheerful shapes in the center of this deserted room. The possibilities are endless.
I close the door to the living room and creep up the stairs. How fun it was this evening to laugh with the children, how responsible to smooth the possible disputes with a smile and some carefully chosen, charmingly delivered words.
Once upstairs, I switch the landing light off and stretch in my room. I’m invincible! And now I’m so cosy in my cotton pyjamas. I could stay up and read until even earlier in the morning if I wished. How tempting it is to finish my book right now, by the light from my dusty bedside lamp. What does it matter? Any damage done from a lack of sleep is already done.
But it just isn’t going to happen. I want to relax, to curl up in those winding sheets and I can’t fight my blinking eyes any longer no matter how much power and excitement and infinite possibilities could await. It’s too late, and I am too happy.
Goodnight everyone.]