I had always smugly refused to engage with the kitschly sentimental show, but who was I kidding?
In the creeping misery of post-summer, when dark, rainy days conspire with the grind of normal life to throw you into despair, Strictly Come Dancing dazzles like a glitter ball in the gloom. For nearly 18 years, avoiding Strictly’s omnipresence in the run-up to Christmas was a personal dogma. When asked for an opinion on who may be voted off or who would win, I’d respond with smug refusal to engage. I did not and could not watch the show.
My strong reaction was in part founded on my inability to understand how watching people who already had money and got paid more to dance badly could ever be called entertainment. Adding insult to injury, the contestants would invariably huff into cameras, gushing about being grateful for the “journey”. No, thank you.
Lola Okolosie is an English teacher and writer focusing on race, politics, education and feminism
