I know millions will disagree but there was unconfined joy in this household this week at the news that Sir Bruce Forsyth has at long last decided to remove his patent leather shoes and that ridiculous rug and retire from presenting Strictly Come Dancing. Jeez I’ve had to wait until the hoofer turned 86 (that’s like 653 in old goat years) before giving up squinting at his cue cards and mangling his useless quips and punchlines. I was starting to believe that the cancer would get me before he called it a day. Hufriggingrrah
I’ve never understood his appeal to be frank. Behind the camera’s lens he’s a miserable cantankerous old git with some decidedly intolerant views. He seems to be generally regarded as this country’s greatest funnyman/dancer/singer/entertainer – Mr Saturday Night – but in reality he’s not funny nor engaging and not really very good at anything apart from presenting which he happens to do badly, relying on ancient catchphrases to get him out of trouble. And he’s hardly a handsome old cove with his rug of many colours, a Maltese pimp’s moustache and his giant chin. Nice to see you? Not really.
But his many many fans will be upset no doubt and wondering who on earth can take over from their ‘irreplaceable’ Brucie. Well there’s lots of talk of Claudia Winkelman but surely they wouldn’t have two women presenters – more likely she’ll replace Tess – or perhaps Anton du Beke who is a) a recognised hoofer and b) even looks like SBF or lots of shouts for John Barrowman who possesses the BBC’s favourite qualities for a Saturday Night TV man; an engaging smile, bags of personality and gay as a picnic basket. But my money’s on Graham Norton who shows plenty of these attributes plus he’s already on a BBC salary of £2.6m and the Beeb is all about getting value for its money these days.
Next I’m going to do a posting on another BBC favourite; the modest and unassuming Jeremy Clarkson. And I’m going to try and write a few hundred words without using the expression douche bag.