I was away last Saturday night. And so I was playing catch-up when I tuned in to episode one of this year’s Strictly.
So many new faces – presenters, ‘celebrities’ I’ve never heard of, pro dancers… all a bit overwhelming. And a massive opening dance number involving absolutely everyone. And that brought the good memories flooding back.
Last year I started watching Strictly knowing that, with nervous anticipation, I’d put my name forward for Guernsey You Can Dance. And really I thought no more about it than that. Then halfway through the series I received an email from my PA.
It read: ‘Da da da da da da dah, da da da da da. Da!’
Below that Strictly theme tune was the official call up. Thursday 5 February was etched into my diary, that was the first night meet-up. Then I heard nothing else until I turned up.
The opening night of the new Strictly took me back nearly eight months to my own experience. Let me walk you through, step by step…
Launch night
About 30 of us were jammed into a small room at the St Saviour’s Community Centre. I knew two fellow competitors and two pros, all blokes. After a bit of nervous chat, we sat either side of the room, and one by one we were paired off, told our dance and had our song played to us. And we were away.
The whole night was going to be Queen-themed… I had mixed feelings about this.
But I was more anxious about the dance than anything else. I had wanted so badly to do a dance in hold to the point that several times I thought about contacting the organisers and asking if I could guarantee this. Then I would tell myself to stop being so self-important and just go with the flow.
So the relief when I got the American Smooth (first thing I did after the event was play a Strictly Smooth through on YouTube) to Killer Queen was quite something. I watched with mounting anxiety as my fellow competitors greeted each other with hugs and twirls and lifts. I’m not a natural hugger and was wracked with anxiety about how to say hello in the circumstances. We waited too. We were the penultimate couple to be called, but I wasn’t even really paying attention to who was left on the other side of the room.
I met Aimee Lihou for the first time. I can’t now remember how we greeted each other. Aimee said something about being ‘in it to win it’. I was not overawed, as my stated intention was ‘to be good’. Winning was totally out of my control – but being good I hoped I could do.
Partner’s opening perspective
‘We all hope to achieve nothing more than giving our partner the best experience possible,’ said Aimee. ‘Knowing that the odds were on me getting a ballroom dance, I was particularly hoping I’d get a partner who could embrace everything ballroom.’
Maybe we both got lucky? I was told early on I’d got the best dancer in the competition (well, she was called upon to help others too). And she said she liked my height (I’m 6ft), that I appeared ‘willing’ and was clearly a die-hard Strictly fan. Well, the first thing I’d done after meeting was send Aimee an article I’d written about my love for Strictly some 13 months previously.
She also thought I was ‘quiet’ – some might find that a surprise – and ‘likely to struggle with flamboyant costumes’. As we would see…
Training
Our training was immediately handicapped. Aimee was ill for the first week, and there was nothing I could do. When we finally got together, we jumped in at the deep end. Foxtrot steps in hold. I literally embraced it. Just a few steps at a time. I raced home and demonstrated the tiny bit of the routine we’d worked on to my wife.
Without knowing anything, I was grateful for Aimee’s approach to dancing in hold. We started just holding each other’s shoulders – by the time we closed the gap it felt like the most natural thing, which it wouldn’t have been in week one.
It was slow, painstaking, but I loved every step – sometimes even four times a week, split between the vacant space at our offices in Braye Road and the St John Ambulance training hall, where Aimee is a senior manager.
I got into the habit of doing a couple of run-throughs before I left the building every night. When Aimee was on holiday I upped it to 20-30 minutes. It became VERY habit-forming.
The dance
We seemed to make good progress. On the occasions we met up with other couples there was lots of ‘Have you done it to music yet?’ It felt at times that we were way ahead of some of our contemporaries. But we hadn’t actually done the full routine, and we were set to make big changes.
The original choreography was set up for a scintillating finish – a big lift with multiple spins. Until I discovered that I was really struggling to spin. If I went too far I was at serious risk of falling over. ‘Spotting’ didn’t work for me. Several times I went home after practice feeling sick as a dog, and a couple of times I went straight to bed to get over it.
Aimee returned from a holiday. I gave her the bad news. I just couldn’t do the spinning. We reworked the routine – happily, to include extra foxtrot steps. And to mask my failings, I committed to more and more lifts.
The song
There’s not much in the way of natural rhythm or moves in Killer Queen. Sometimes it felt we were just stepping out vaguely in time with the music without ‘dancing’ to it as such. It frustrated me at times.
Although I told people the dance we were doing, I never revealed the song – though several times I caught myself singing it at my desk and wondered if anyone else had caught on.
I got into the habit of singing along as we danced, which made Aimee laugh.
When other people saw me, they commented on it. So we kept it in the routine – it made us stand out. And then I saw at least one other couple were doing it too. I was gutted.
The costume
Aimee had a show-stopping dress in mind from early on. I was happy to go with the flow. I bought my dancing shoes (with a proper suede sole, and ridiculously cheap to be honest) and a pair of wide-legged trousers as you often see on Strictly. When Aimee had an impromptu change of style – well, more colour really – we committed to a red shirt, and ordered several styles.
Wearing it all at the dress rehearsal I thought would be amazing. It turned out to be one of the worst nights of the process. I thought the achievement of completing the dance would be quite something – but I simply felt flat afterwards. Emotionless.
And then I got told I needed loads more pizazz. A sequin go-faster stripe down the trousers? Flashing braces? Rotating bow tie? Ugh. I was really frustrated – knocked back, to be honest. But if I fought against the worst of these excesses, I took on board the advice for more formality and went back to the wardrobe.
Highs and lows
The best bit? The feeling that you’re getting somewhere. I did a step outside my standing leg. It felt absolutely incredible, like I was a real dancer.
And then, as we moved on, practising with other people. You took it in turns to do your routine, and it was there that supportive friendships were made with people who, a couple of weeks previously, I could barely recognise, and certainly not name.
The worst bits? The first was the first time we danced in front of someone else and they videoed it for us. That evening we danced in front of the group for the first time and on the drive home I was buzzing. I thought we’d cracked it. Then Aimee sent me the video. I was absolutely horrified on so many levels. I watched it again the following morning and then never again. And our next session was prefaced with a doubling-down to do much, much better.
The second was another performance in front of others. And it was all going so well. I remember about a minute in thinking to myself ‘Well, this is all going very well’. And then I had to catch my partner (picture far left) as she ran and jumped at me. This was usually conducted around her bottom. This time I took leave of my senses and aimed for under the arms. Somehow we largely got away with it – ‘You changed the lift,’ said our friends – but I learned the hard way never to take any dance move for granted. My broken ring finger will never bend the same.
Partner’s concluding perspective
‘James was studious and hard-working and proved to be more daring than we thought, despite the spinning motion sickness,’ said Aimee.
‘To be honest he was a ballroom dream who cared about technique, a team player – and he wasn’t as quiet as I’d first thought. Training was full on. I’ve never taught so much technique to a GYCD competitor.
‘Our only wobble was the night he nearly didn’t catch me – the best bits were the singing and the night he brought out the sequins, and gained “sass” like never before.’
Show time: behind the scenes
We were to spend 24 of the next 36 hours at the St Pierre Park Hotel. I was both impressed and depressed with myself that within five minutes of my arrival I had my gear spread out across four different locations in our spacious lads’ changing room. We spent a lot of time in there, and I watched with interest at how people spent their time. There were the jokers, the silent ones, the dancers, the notable absentees, and head teacher Richard Fyfe strumming away on his guitar.
Some spent more time in the girls’ changing room, where a couple of dancers had brought their wardrobe and then some, and clothing rails dominated alongside hair, make-up and various states of undress.
Show time: on the dance floor
When we all assembled, in dance order, and headed down towards reception to stand outside the Victor Hugo dining room/ball room, everything changed. Couples took to the floor two by two while we stood outside, initially trying to get a glimpse of action through the curtains and crowds. The mood was so supportive, and it jostled with the evident nerves to create an atmosphere like I’ve never experienced, and one, frankly, which I can’t get enough of.
I was confident we would dance fine. For three weeks now we’d done the routine over and over again, with no mistakes. And we did it again. I never felt that I’d blown everyone away, but neither did I feel that I blew it. I did myself justice.
You ‘won’ by winning a public vote. There was loads of discussion, off stage and in the crowd, about how fair and justified it was. For once, I didn’t really get involved. I’d reached the stage where I wanted everyone to win, and though I was both happy and a touch relieved to claim ‘victory’ in the Saturday evening ballroom public vote, as much to reward Aimee as for myself, my immediate reaction was sadness that half of my equally deserving dance floor friends had come away with no formal recognition.
For I’d learned that to ‘win’ was to take part, to be involved in a most incredible event.
When Bruce and Tess used to say ‘Keeeeep dancing’, they knew what they were talking about.
Guernsey You Can Dance is organised by the team from Guernsey Retro, which specialises in great fun and fundraising events largely with a vintage theme. This year’s GYCD raised £19,500 between 12 local charities and over the years has raised more than £80,000.
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