Strictly Come Dancing has become so popular, so embedded in the national psyche, so manifestly important to the Saturday night tv dead zone (when decent people go to the pub) that we may happily dispense with the patently unnecessary bit about Coming Dancing.
We may blithey, archly refer to the programme using it's insider tv name. Strictly.
(See, don't you feel like an important tv exec., now!)
The great thing about Strictly is it's simplicity. There's nothing fancy-dan or clever-clog about it. It harks back to a golden age when we were awed and enchanted, happy to sit back, suck boiled sweets and be entertained by any old rubbish.
Before internet recorders and mobular telephones ruined us and made us all smart-arse-alecs.
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