Diary, you can keep a secret can’t you? Of course you can, you’re my secret diary. Well, this time every year as autumn sets in and summer fades away I get really excited, do you want to know why?
Strictly Come Dancing.
I know it’s a bit naff and most people only admit to watching it ‘for a laugh’, but I really love it. Mr Divine, he’s not so taken. Now, in a world with catch-up TV, you’d think there’d be fewer arguments over TV watching. The thing is though, to get a true feel for the show I have to watch it when it airs – and of course, then I can vote.
So Saturday evenings get a bit tense when Strictly starts up, but I always win out. The kids used to join sides with their Dad, but these days both of them have better things to do with their Saturday nights than to help Dad win a TV argument. In fact, I barely see the kids at weekends: they’re either sleeping or partying or frantically catching up with homework. Ah, the joys of youth.
So, the Saturday just gone I got my wish and the TV was on so I could watch the first week of my favourite programme. Mr Divine went off in a huff at first and I heard him clattering around in the kitchen. Hubby cleaning the kitchen while I watch telly? Double bonus!
But of course, he came back through the living room just at the moment I was swooning over a particularly good looking dancer. I mean, there’s a few who catch my eye but this one just melts me every time I catch a glimpse of his tight, fit dancer’s physique.
“I don’t know why you watch this daft programme,” he mumbled, fidgeting in the dresser drawer. “It’s not even like you really dance.”
“I can dance,” I huffed. “I took dance classes all the way into my teens and I did Zumba for ages. You’re the one that doesn’t dance.”
“I can dance,” he snapped, slamming the dresser drawer shut. “My bloody first girlfriend made me go to dance class with her. I was really rather good you know.”
“Well, come on then, show me your moves!”
On the telly, a slow waltz had just started. So Mr Divine swept me into his arms and danced me around the middle of our living room, trying very hard not to push me into the coffee table.
“See,” he whispered, “I can dance.”
“Mmm, I can feel it too,” I replied, pushing my hips hard against his. All I can say, diary, is it’s a good job you don’t need to vote on the first week of Strictly because I didn’t see the rest of the programme. I was otherwise engaged with my husband: dancing, and whirling and stripping and… well, you get the picture.
I think Mr Divine can see the attraction in my favourite show now. I have a feeling he’ll be curling up on the sofa with me for next week’s dancing session!