‘I assume you’ve heard of the television showSexy Come Dancing?’ Arrogance echoes in his tone.
‘Of course I’ve heard ofSexy Come Dancing.’ I’ve heard of Aaron Wright too. I’d recognise his voice anywhere. Not only is he a producer, but he’s one of the main presenters too.
Sexy Come Dancingis all anyone talks about whenever there’s a new series looming. It’s the newer, sexier, take onStrictly. Airing at nine thirty each Saturday night for seven weeks, sixteen celebrities are divided into pairs and taught a new dance to perform. The dances are a modern take on the traditional salsas and rumbas – the common denominator being an emphasis on sensual moves and skimpy clothing.
Unlike Strictly, the contestants are paired with other celebrities, instead of a professional, making learning the dances so much harder. It’s sometimes so bad that viewing is utterly addictive.
The couples are all taught together in an RTE studio building. Not only do they watch each other train and assess the competition, but tickets to watch the training are available to purchase several afternoons a week. It’s a money-making racket which people willingly throw fistfuls of notes to get a glimpse of.
Last year, three of the contestants were caught in bed together in an illicit hotel romp – two of them were married men and the other one was a notorious flirt previously linked to the marriage break-up of one of the British royals. The show finale saw the winning male, a former professional boxer, Barry Hartley, strip bollock naked live on national television. RTE denied it was pre-planned but the show received the highest watch on repeat of any show last year.
For weeksSexy Come Dancingdominates the tabloids. Almost everyone that ever went on the show went on to secure permanent television or radio contracts, or modelling deals, falling into a career of their choice practically overnight.
Aaron pauses dramatically before saying, ‘We’d like to offer you a place on this year’s show.’
The first thought that rushes through my head is that I’m beyond flattered to be asked, because as previously mentioned, I’m no skinny twenty year old. The second is a flashback of another thought from only minutes earlier – a wish for a few weeks away from the sole role of motherhood. Careful what you wish for, right?
