I normally depend on Marie Phillips for Strictly Come Dancing online discussions, but as she is incapacitated, I will have to post this here and not there. Why, in the name of all that is good and sparkly, did the BBC this week choose to replace the also incapacitated Brucie with Ronnie Corbett?
I mean, Ronnie Corbett? First of all, with the more than competent Tess Daly and Claudia Winkleman jointly at the helm, why do you need to bring in anyone at all? Is there some sort of law that women shall never be left alone to present a prime time TV show, even in an emergency? And secondly, who on earth flicked desperately through their glittering BBC contacts book and found that Ronnie Corbett was the best they could come up with?
For several series now, people (and by people I mean me and all right-thinking others, who by definition agree with me) have been complaining that Brucie’s creaking humour is ruining the show. Experiencing a Bruce Forsyth joke these days is like watching an ancient old collie dog fetching a stick. It appears on the horizon as a distant dot and seems to take forever to arrive, running in unnecessary circles and forgetting where it is going before finally collapsing in front of you, wheezing but unspeakably proud.
Yet someone, faced with the opportunity to inject some youth and originality into the show, thought, “Right! What we need here is another septuagenarian who tells terrible jokes and won’t be identifiable to at least half of the audience – get me Corbett!”