All Balls and Glitter (35 page)

Kelly is a blooming good dancer. It was a terrible shame she had to leave the show early, following the sad news of her father’s death, because she was amazing. She would have made it to the final, I’m sure – as long as her dance partner Brendan Cole was kept in check. Their American Smooth could have been stunning if it wasn’t for the illegal lift that Brendan included. He has done that far too often.

I loved their dancing, but I thought that they should have been disqualified for that particular piece of choreography. They both knew the rules – and there are reasons for them. If everyone decided to be anarchists on the dance floor, there’s no point in a judging panel and no point in our scores. How would an Olympic athlete feel if a rival won a gold medal when they should have been banned? I felt Bruno giving them a ten was frankly irresponsible.

People always assume that Bruno and I don’t get on because of our arguments on the show, but they are about dance, because we see dance in a very different way: I love things that he sometimes hates. Our job on stage is separate to our life backstage; despite our on-screen disagreements, Bruno and I are true mates.

When we first started doing
Strictly
, Bruno wanted to get into theatrical choreography, rather than continuing with his usual work in film, TV and pop videos, so we shared some elaborate discussions about my trade. He was very keen to move to theatre, but I explained that it’s very difficult to get into and can be quite brutal if you’re not flavour of the month. As soon as someone new comes along, all the old choreographers get chucked out. They say TV is fickle, but I think it applies to all aspects of show business. Every producer thinks there’s someone better – and cheaper – round the corner.

During the first three series of
SCD
, Bruno and I used to go out together all the time. The dynamics changed when he started judging the American show
Dancing with the Stars
, but when Bruno’s in town and not shuttling back and forth to the States, he and I often have lunch together. Sometimes he cooks, and I can tell you that he serves up a mean roast chicken. Afterwards, we’ll go out and about for the afternoon and will regularly end up at my mate’s place for dinner.

After one such day, we got absolutely hammered and flagged a black cab in St Pancras to get us home. The car door opened and Bruno completely missed the step. He was lying face down
with his top half inside the taxi and his knees splayed in the middle of the road outside. Very Patsy in
Ab Fab
. He looked hysterical with his butt sticking out of the cab. Oh, I wish I’d had a camera that night. Where are the paps when you need them?

Bruno swears like a trooper. Every second word is an F-word, but somehow it’s less offensive with the beautiful Italian accent. Gordon Ramsay and Bruno would make a great double act. He does make me laugh because his
Strictly
comments are so floral, but, if you listen carefully, you’ll realize that they are never really that much to do with dance technique, instead he focuses more on the emotional, ‘tiger-in-the-wild’ side of the performance.

In series four, his expletives got him into trouble when he swore on live TV and had to make a public apology. He was contradicting some comment Arlene had made and flamboyantly announced, ‘The hills are alive with the sound of bullshit.’ He also got told off for mentioning God in one comment. There’s a clause in our contract that says we can’t swear, blaspheme or make sexual references because of the watershed. It is quite difficult to control if you swear a lot like Bruno does, off-screen. It’s not easy to switch it off.

When we first started working on the programme, the three male judges shared one dressing room, which was a laugh. Bruno can’t wait to take his clothes off, so he would slop around in his pants the whole time. Len, on the other hand – who used to be a stand-up comedian, which not many people know – would entertain the life out of us. He is completely mad and utterly hilarious: I was frequently in stitches with him backstage.

Len can get grouchy sometimes, particularly after he’s been travelling. He’ll be all ‘cheeky chappy’ – cheerful smile and sparkling teeth – on set, but then turn into a real old grump when the cameras stop rolling. Sometimes, this can affect the programme. If he’s doing the show in America and the UK at the same time, for example, it changes the way he is. Consequently, that influences Arlene’s mood and mine too. Nevertheless, I still get
on really well with him, and with Arlene – who is also slightly nutty, to tell the truth. In fact, I often feel like the sanest one on the panel!

Just like Len, Arlene is funny. I have the most fantastic memory of her from when we went up to Edinburgh to judge a special
Strictly
, with TV executives as contestants. It was part of an industry awards ceremony and execs from all channels were taking part.

For the event, as on the live show, we had those wretched paddles that display the scores, which are stored underneath our desk in boxes; one set each. When we’ve decided on our mark, we have to rummage through and choose the one we want. I’m always first up, and then Arlene. On this occasion, I’d just got mine out when I saw that Arlene had knocked over her box and the paddles had gone everywhere. I have never seen her so flummoxed in all my life. She disappeared underneath the desk and the announcement went, ‘Judges, your scores please.’

So I got mine ready, thinking, ‘Oh my God, she’s never going to make it.’ They called my name and I gave my score of seven, trying to keep a very straight face. Then the voice said, ‘Arlene Phillips.’

She was still under the table, scrabbling around. The camera shot to absolutely no one sat at the desk. Suddenly, she popped up, looked at the paddle she had in her hand, to see which number was on it, and went ‘Ten!’ She’d grabbed the first one she could find and accidentally gave a perfect score. It was so amusing; she was totally panic-stricken and Bruno and I couldn’t stop laughing. Arlene is such a character, always in control, so I love it when she gets flustered and lost for words. She starts embellishing and goes on and on. I can always tell when she’s lost the plot a bit because she starts rambling inanely.

Arlene writes a book of notes for every dance when she’s judging
Strictly
. It’s pages and pages. I note down three things. I either love or hate it, and that’s the angle I start from. Once I’ve
decided that, I write down three words that describe the performance or three points that I want to mention, so I might scribble ‘arms’, ‘footwork’, ‘top line’ or whatever else strikes me.

It’s useful to have the notes – not only to focus the feedback and make it concise and articulate, but also so that I have a range of aspects to discuss. I listen to my fellow judges’ comments and very rarely repeat any element of what they’ve said. If Len talks about the footwork, I will remark on top line or emotion or something else. It’s better in my view to flag up a new perspective for the audience to think about than to rehash the same response; the dancers gain more that way too.

Len, or Len ‘Goody’ Goodman as I often refer to him, approaches his judging from a teaching point of view; he’s quite technical and he tends to love, embrace, nurture and not really hurt anyone’s feelings.

As a choreographer, I too love, embrace and nurture; you might find that hard to believe, but it’s true. When it comes to judging the contestants, I tackle it in the capacity of a director/choreographer, searching for what may need attention choreographically or dramatically. Is the dance telling a story? Who may need a push to catch up with the rest of the cast? Who’s not pulling their weight on stage? Who’s overworking the choreography? Are they in sync? I’m always looking for the wrong – but only so that it can be righted. In my own work in the theatre, I have to be supercritical, because I’ll have critics analysing my dancers’ performances and writing about it in the papers the next day. If the reviews prove unfavourable, that could put me out of work.

Midway through season five, I gave what I thought was a charming interview to a tabloid newspaper. I was horrified by what they printed. In black and white, the bare words read: ‘The acid-tongued Aussie said Penny Lancaster looked like a SWINGER, Letitia Dean was FAT and injured Kate Garraway was a HUMILIATION.’

None of it was true. To clarify, I had said that Letitia had some self-assurance issues – but who wouldn’t lose confidence dancing next to Amazons like Kelly Brook, Penny Lancaster-Stewart and Gabby Logan? I’d commented that I thought the audience were being brutal keeping Kate in, when she was humiliated each week. Finally, I had remarked that Penny’s outfit made her look like she was at a swingers’ party. Not the same thing at all.

Dominic Littlewood was voted off the show around this time. In the week following his departure, the
Daily Mirror
, among other media, published his claim that the judges prejudged the scores. That’s absolute rubbish. I don’t see how you can prejudge anyone in a live competition. Even if we saw the rehearsal, which we very, very rarely do, that’s not the dance we pronounce upon.

We judges can never discuss the show’s content ahead of time because we honestly don’t know anything about it. The
Strictly
team keeps us in the dark until just before the live programme, when the producer comes in to give us a quick briefing. We might be told then that someone is injured, for example, but it doesn’t mean we should go easy on them; it’s just to keep us in the loop.

At any rate, we don’t let those titbits of information alter our opinions. Even injury doesn’t cut any ice with me because I would say that if you’re badly injured, you shouldn’t dance. If you go ahead, I will judge the routine and nothing else. We grade on the performance and the viewers can vote with their emotions. We always see more than the viewing public does, of course, because the TV audience watch pretty cutaway shots, which don’t necessarily expose the bent leg or sickle foot.

The rumour mill went into overdrive about Matt Di Angelo and Flavia Cacace during the fifth series. They obviously had a very close relationship. If you are dancing eight hours a day with someone, that changes your personal space and the barriers come down.

My work on
Strictly
wasn’t stopping me from lowering barriers of my own, either. As the show continued apace, I was making
progress in my love life. On the prowl again, I snagged a third catch: Mr M. He was twenty-three, but very tall and extremely cute, so my age rule went west.

I met him at a fashion show called
The
Cambridge Catwalk
, which had been arranged, bizarrely enough, by my ex-wife Jane. Mr M was sitting opposite me. He clocked me and came rushing up, asking for my phone number.

‘Sorry, I’m not in the habit of handing out phone numbers to perfect strangers,’ I said, before adding charmingly, ‘but I do accept them.’

Mr M gave me his details. The next morning, I rang him – and woke him up.

‘Who is this?’ he demanded, rather crossly.

‘It’s Craig Revel Horwood,’ I said.

He was beside himself – well, he lived in Cambridge. I asked him if he wanted to come down to London and see the TV programme, which he did.

As soon as he arrived, I asked him if he was in a relationship. I think I was paranoid about that sort of thing after my previous experiences.

It was just as well I asked. He said boldly, ‘Yes, I am.’ He told me that he lived with his boyfriend.

For me, that was the end of that, so it never got off the ground. We stayed in touch, though; he’s a nice lad.

Soon afterwards, my friends David and Michelle asked me to judge a drag fashion show for charity at a nightclub called Horse Meat, in Vauxhall. David and Michelle have both been in my life for years and always look after me, rustling up delicious dinners. They are both very house-proud and fantastic cooks, and they were brilliant during my split with Lloyd. So, I was happy to help them out.

(Plus, David told me there was a free bar and a VIP room, and it sounded quite fun, so I said I would certainly do it.)

I turned up in my nice Givenchy suit to judge this contest,
which was really quite tragic, and this bright-blue drag queen – I kid you not – walked down the catwalk and then fell off the end of the runway, into the crowd. Everything was blue – her wig, her dress and even her skin.

Having slipped off the catwalk, she fought her way through the crowd and stood in front of me, yelling, ‘What did you give me? What did you bloody give me?’ in a broad Welsh Valleys accent. Then she demanded to know how old I was, so I said forty-two, and she plonked herself down next to me on the judging panel and demanded, ‘Feel my thighs! Feel my thighs! I’m a rugby player.’

Then, suddenly, she leapt up and said, ‘I’ll be back in ten minutes,’ and she rushed off. I thought she was a complete nutter, so I beat a hasty retreat to the VIP area. I sat there chatting to David. In time, a security guy came up and said, ‘There’s a man downstairs who says he has your mobile phone.’

‘I’ve got my mobile phone,’ I said. ‘He’s a mad, blue Welshman; don’t let him anywhere near me.’ So they didn’t.

An hour or two later, as I was leaving, after a very pleasant night I might add, he came up to me again as I was collecting my coat and bag from the cloakroom. I didn’t recognize him, because he wasn’t blue and he wasn’t wearing a dress. I simply thought, ‘Oh my God. He’s gorgeous.’

Then he revealed, ‘I’m the blue drag. Kiss me!’

So I did. Then I gave him my phone number.

After all that drama, he lost his mobile that very same night. I didn’t hear from him for a month. But he was persistent – as I might have anticipated.

One day, my agent, Gavin Barker, received an email from the blue drag – let’s call him DHG – explaining what had happened and including his phone number. So, I rang him, and we agreed to meet up, which was the beginning of the weirdest relationship I have ever had. Although he had been pushy on that first night, he didn’t want to have sex. We became lovers without the sexual
relationship. Even when he stayed overnight, nothing serious happened.

After three months, I confronted him about it and said, ‘Look, I really like you, but can you please tell me if anything is ever going to happen between us because, if not, I don’t want you here.’