Glitterballs

 

‘Aaah!’ says Tango Pete, tangoing himself into position on the stage. ‘The Nineteen Eighties! What a decade! The music, the films, the economic boom and bust – ‘He-Man and the Masters of the Universe’ for heaven’s sake! And in the midst of it all, my uncle the Right Honourable Peter Sanspantaloon, M.P for Cymbeline-on-the-Wold and political advisor for the too-near-to-the-knuckle-of-truth political satire TV sit-com, ‘Yes, Minister.’

‘I do like that sitcom,’ says Mrs Slocombe. ‘Of course, it’s total fabrication and Government would NEVER be run as it is portrayed in the programme, because THAT would be a SCANDAL.’

‘Hmmmmm,’ says the ever-cynical Mrs Miggins.

Tango Pete is shimmying around the stage and looking wholly incongruous against the Victorian parlour theme, but eventually he settles in the chair and opens his storybook.

‘This is the story of my uncle’s claim to fame,’ begins Tango Pete, wishing he’d worn his crushed velour rather than sequinned trousers because the sequins aren’t half making a teeth-grating screech against the leather of the chair. But the story to save another ghost must be told, so all thoughts of discomfort are put to one side.

‘Peter Sanspantaloon was what you might call a colourful character,’ says Tango Pete, and the ghost of Peter Sanspantaloon, who is leaning casually against the mantelpiece, nods in agreement. ‘He was always in the newspapers and lots of people had lots of often varying opinions about him. He was the Marmite of Parliament – they either hated him or wanted to spread him all over their toast in a thick layer. If reality TV had been a thing back in the 1980’s, my Uncle Pete would have starred in them all…and,’ continues Tango Pete, ‘he DID actually take part in the first ever series of Strictly Come Dancing!’

‘That’s rubbish!’ shouts a cocky chap from the audience. ‘Strictly Come Dancing didn’t start until 2004.’

‘How do you know?’ says Tango Pete.

‘Wikipedia,’ comes the shout back.

‘Ah, yes,’ says Tango Pete. ‘The online font of knowledge that is honest and true.’

‘I think that was irony,’ whispers Mrs Slocombe in the wings.

Tango Pete continues. ‘The first ever series of Strictly Come Dancing was, in fact, recorded in 1984. There were eight contestants in all, Peter Sanspantaloon being one of them. He was partnered by the Russian ballroom champion, Natalyia Tchucksemallova, and it soon became clear she was bringing out the very best in his cha-cha-cha and his paso had never been more dobled.

In the quarter finals – ‘Make a Grand Entrance’ week – Peter Sanspantaloon was riding high in the judges’ vote. At this point in the broadcast, the great British public were not a part of the voting system, on account of their natural propensity for always voting for the underdog. The broadcaster felt they could not be trusted to vote for the correct celebrity to win and, given the broadcaster was banking on a lucrative income from several sponsors who were demanding their ‘chosen’ celebrity lifted the glitterball, then a certain level of - how shall we say - creative and manipulative marking was called for, if you know what I mean?’

And Tango Pete taps the side of his beak and winks knowingly at the audience.

‘Voting corruption in Strictly Come Dancing?’ says Mrs Pumphrey, horrified.

‘I know,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘They’ll be letting professional celebrity dancers take part next.’

Back to the story. (The Lady Author voted constantly for Annabelle and Johannes in the current Strictly series, but when they were voted out - shame and boooooo – she voted for Ellie and Vito in the Final, and definitely did NOT vote for any celebrity who may have reached the Final on account of them already being a professional dancer. Bah humbug!)

Tango Pete continues.

‘It was decided that Peter Sanspantaloon would make his Grand Entrance on an enormous wrecking ball (he was years ahead of Miley Cyrus – in fact, there is some evidence that she stole his performance for her 2013 video) wearing a lime green mankini and a sequinned bowler hat.  All had gone well during the dress rehearsals but the broadcasting corporation bosses had received a few urgent telephone calls from their sponsors who were growing increasingly concerned that Peter Sanspantaloon looked like he was heading to the final and was in danger of winning the glitterball trophy. And this would NOT do, what with him being the ‘wrong’ type of M.P and certainly not the kind of person who needed to be raising his popularity stakes with the Great British Voting Public. Something, said the sponsors, needed to ‘happen’ in order to prevent this impending political catastrophe.

On the evening of the quarter finals, then, a hint of sabotage filtered through the air in the studios. Peter Sanspantaloon was third to dance and the atmosphere in the audience was reaching a peak of frenzied excitement. Peter mounted his wrecking ball and adjusted his mankini and bowler hat. Natalyia Tchucksemallova took her position on the ballroom floor, ready to launch herself into Peter’s arms as soon as he landed. The musical introduction began, the audience cheered and the wrecking ball with a posturing Peter aboard began to swing back and forth.

The audience went wild! Cheering and applause saturated the ballroom and Peter, rising to the occasion, decided to rise also from his safe sitting position on the wrecking ball to one of standing full stretch.

‘What is he doing??’ shouted a horrified stage manager. ‘He can’t stand up in THAT costume. It’ll spl…..oh….’

It was too late! The terrible, heart-stopping, career-ending sound of ripping Lycra was heard above the music as the lime green mankini was caught on a loosened link in the wrecking ball chain (how did THAT happen?? Eh? Eh????) and stretched beyond its limits.

And it was then that the audience found out that not only was Peter Sanspantaloon, he was sans y-fronts/ boxer shorts/ any semblance of underpants AT ALL!

‘Oh, dear goodness!’ said the floor manager. ‘He’s gone commando.’

The audience in the Big Top gasp. The audience in the television recording gasped. The judging panel gasped, but not terrible authentically because, somehow, they already knew that the elimination of Peter Sanspantaloon was pre-ordained and already had their 2 marks paddles at the ready.

The following morning, everything was splashed across the newspapers. Literally everything. The Right Honourable Peter Sanspantaloon had been hoisted by his own green-lycra ego along with the underhand political machinations of a public broadcasting service. Of course, it was the end of his political career and the inaugural series of Strictly Come Dancing was shelved for another 20 years until it was forgotten by a traumatised generation of TV viewers.’

Tango Pete pauses and looks at the audience.

‘It wasn’t wholly the end of my uncle Peter, though,’ he said. ‘It takes a lot to keep a personality like him down. He disappeared from public view, heading off to live in Anonymity, which is a small costal town in Southern Australia, its waters populated by enormous sharks. Twenty years after his Strictly fall from grace, he returned to the British Isles, no longer a politician, but a dance choreographer going by the name of…Craig Revel Horwood! And immediately he was offered a position as a regular judge on the current Strictly panel!’

‘Well, I never!’ says Mrs Miggins, who is rarely surprised by anything, but she hadn’t seen that one coming at all. ‘But, surely, he would be too old by then? Craig still looks relatively young.’

 (Says the Lady Author who was born in the same year as C R H but hasn’t had ANY cosmetic interference whatsoever.)

‘Plastic surgery and a fake passport, darling,’ says Tango Pete.

‘Ah’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘Of course.’

‘And that,’ finishes Tango Pete, ‘is why Craig Revel Horwood is always so picky and so mean with his marking paddles. He’ll never get over losing his own chance of winning the Strictly glitterball. Bitterness can do very unattractive things to a face.’

‘Tragic,’ says Mrs Miggins. ‘Anyway, let’s move on, eh? No point moping about the past.’

‘Hang on, one cotton -picking minute,’ says the Phantomime, who happens to be a close personal friend of Mr Horwood. ‘If Peter Sanspantaloon is actually Craig Revel Horwood, how can he be a ghost at the same time?’ 

‘All I’ll say,’ says Tango Pete, knowingly, ‘is the temperature in the Strictly television studios falls by several degrees when Craig makes his entrance. And he never needs to open the door to get in and out of his dressing room….’

‘But he doesn’t look like Craig Revel Horwood now,’ persists the Phantomime.

‘Would you want to, 365 days a year??’ saysTango Pete. ‘Give the man a break, eh?’

(The Lady Author would like to apologise for the tenuous explanations at this point in the story. She didn’t sleep very well last night because of the wind.)