Strictly Come Dancing- Saturday nights on the BBC.

The Strictly Come Dancing Age.


It's Saturday evening, an autumnal darkness has set in, the central heating has been turned up full blast, the wintry tomato soups are ready to consume and the dog needs his or her daily exercise. What could be more comforting and relaxing? It is a domestic scene that perfectly captures the mood of the nation.

This past summer has given us nothing but the European Union, politicians spouting forth at great and repetitive length on Britain's political position- or now lack of it- on Europe and the number of pints Nigel Farage has drunk in the last five minutes. Out there in the big, wide world some of us are wholly indifferent and somehow pleading for an alternative discourse. The theme is the same, the voices are much the same and the narrative is enough to drive you crazy.

But fear not because Strictly Come Dancing has come to our rescue. Yes folks. Strictly Come Dancing, perhaps the one and only TV programme to provide us with light relief, an antidote to the horrors of daytime TV and a reason to cheer eccentricity and mediocrity.

At Saturday tea- time the BBC, in its best Saturday evening glad rags, gets all energetic and silly.  It is a long time since the BBC has ever been able to boast with some pride a flagship programme that is both inspirational and hugely enjoyable. Strictly Come Dancing ticks all the boxes because it's pure escapism, cheesy perhaps but nonetheless riveting. It looks tremendous fun and reminds you of those halcyon days when dad got up at a family gathering and danced because he felt like it and didn't care what others thought.

Strictly Dancing is wonderfully accessible, inclusive and restores your faith in TV entertainment. It's all about men and women in glittering, sparkling clothes that look as though they've been borrowed from the wardrobe of a major West End musical. Strictly has a brilliant dance band with brilliant singers, scenery that resembles a West End musical and the kind of judges whose comments are both sharply honest  and riotously amusing.

Roll back the years to 1976 and the BBC Saturday evening schedule gave us Bruce Forsyth's wonderful Generation Game, a glorious celebration of the game show at its very best. It was the kind of game show where anything and everything was acceptable - within reason-  and everybody just fell about laughing on their sofas.

It was the one day of the week where Britain could kick off its shoes, throw aside its inhibitions and just become totally absorbed in something that took them away from their working world. The Generation Game had nothing but laughter, silliness, absurdity and the most perfect relationship with its watching public.

It had Sir Bruce Forsyth, that most polished of entetainers, introducing, indulging and engaging with his contestants from a card. Bruce made polite conversation, asked them what they did for a living and then creased up with more laughter and hilarity. Then he told them that the game they were about to take part in would involve loads of clay.

It was time for the Potters Wheel, flower arranging, painting landscapes in a matter of seconds or just pretending they were all in some posh and classy West End play. They would reel off their lines, forget those lines and then act alongside the great actors and soap opera celebrities of the day.

It was all splendidly nonsensical and just what the nation needed. At the time some regarded the Generation Game as somehow demeaning. But the Gen Game was just gentle and inoffensive. It was never intellectually stimulating because that was left to the likes of Mastermind, University Challenge and Brain of Britain.

But for what seemed ages, the Generation Game ticked all of the right boxes. It had corny gags, audience participation, irresistible tomfoolery and achingly funny games. At the end a couple from a quaint English village won through to the conveyor belt and just looked totally shocked. The wobbly doors would open and the couple were suddenly transported into another world.

Now they too could win cuddly teddy bears, a frying pan, an alarm clock, kitchen utensils, a bar of chocolate and some very useful table cloths- or maybe that might have been a slight exaggeration. Then the couple would be required to remember exactly what they'd seen and name as many of the star prizes as they could. Then Bruce in his checked jacket and tie would tell the whole of Britain that life could be just as exciting if you played the Generation Game.

Meanwhile back in 2016 Labour politician Ed Balls changed all of the TV dynamics and changed the complexion of early evening telly. Ed Balls, it has to be said, is the most wondrous dancer in the whole world. If truth is told and even by his own admission he may be wondrous but dancing may not be his calling in life.

Ed Balls wears loud and garish yellow jackets, prances around a BBC dance floor with all the co-ordination of a Max Wall and then stomps about the floor with an almost misplaced enthusiasm. Ed Balls would probably happily admit that he can't dance for toffee. But week after week he provides the nation with a golden opportunity to throw aside our inhibitions.

So there you have it. Strictly Come Dancing is back where it should be. For those who remember the original Come Dancing  Strictly Come Dancing may just be a stunning variation on a theme. But for one marvellous evening Saturday TV on the BBC has once again come to life. We thank the BBC. We thank the BBC immensely.