If more stars had a drink on TV like Alesha, I might even watch it
Many of you will be familiar with the name Alesha Dixon. Alas, hitherto, it has meant nothing to me.
However, her name came across my desk, printed in large red letters on a manila folder appended to which was the following memo: “Here is your latest assignment. Write authoritatively about this burd. And don’t muck it up this time.”
A familiar thrill of excitement ran through my veins but that was because the dinner bell had just gone. When I got back to my desk, after dining a la carte at Greggs, I took up the folder with a heavy heart.
Vaguely ill-matched conjunction of names, like Aloysius Drainage or Sapphire Nostril-Hair.
Turns out Frau Dixon is a judge on television’s Strictly Come Dancing, or just Dancing as it’s known to aficionados. She has come to the attention of the nation’s scrupulously fair and above-board press (can you tell I’m reading this from an autocue?) on account of allegedly necking an entire bottle of wine during a TV chat show.
I can’t see what the fuss is about. Surely, this is just fuddy-duddy old television catching up with the fads of a dud society? Most people nowadays get through a whole bottle of wine while brushing their teeth in the morning, so it seems reasonable to quaff the same in a chat show, with its inevitable longeurs.
If more people got drunk on telly, I might watch it. What finer, more entertaining spectacle than standards slipping before one’s very eyelobes? We are in the days of Nero, my brothers, playing the Xbox while Europe burns.
Burning with missionary position zeal, Alesha encouraged citizens to watch the rival X Factor show, which many women already do — such is their degraded state. It’s fair to say these sleazy shows are not unrelated to the weekend ladette phenomenon with the micro-skirts and the low cleavages and, you know, the boots. This practice is a disgrace, and one fervently hopes that it will continue forthwith.
The Daily Mail — jackboot of the printed press — stomped on Alesha for ‘gleeful cackling’, which I believe is illegal in some Muslim countries.
Or is it compulsory?
Whatever, we can learn a lot from our Muslim brethren, not least in their attitude to dancing, which can result in an on-the-spot fine or being hanged from a crane.
Alesha revealed that dancing was flirtatious and that everyone on the show was ‘horny’. Yes, I suspected as much. This is grim news indeed. And no police officer to be found when you want one.
As it happens, I’m being forced to attend a dance (and, worse still, karaoke) tomorrow evening. I’ve informed loved ones attending the junket that, if they’re looking for me at any point in the evening, I shall be out in the car park, pretending to be a smoker. The weather may be inclement, but I’m no respecter of dress codes and shall wear a duffel coat, with a fie upon the titterers.
I won’t be drinking either, as I live an austere life now, dominated by chocolate and buns.
I don’t think Alesha and I would see eyelobe to eyelobe, and so I take the manila folder with her name on it and stamp it ‘unsolved’.