Twenty years ago I burst into a meeting of senior newspaper executives and announced to the group of mostly middle-aged males that I had just seen a programme that would change Saturday night TV viewing for ever.
It was a ballroom dancing competition, I explained, in which novices were partnered with professional dancers and they all competed for a glitterball trophy.
As I gushed about the show’s other magical elements – the sequins, the make-up, the live music, the gorgeous gowns – I was greeted not with enthusiasm but a sea of bemused expressions
Even when I mentioned that it would be hosted by the legendary Bruce Forsyth, complete with his new catchphrase ‘Keeeep dancing!’, I failed to make an impression.
I had, of course, watched the first ever episode of Strictly Come Dancing and was so entranced that I predicted that it would eclipse Simon Cowell’s domination of Saturday nights.
My rave review appeared in the Mail under the headline: ‘Why Come Dancing has the X-Factor’.
‘At last it has come to pass, reality TV that is not rotten,’ I wrote. ‘Step forward Strictly Come Dancing or quick-step or cha cha, it all works for me.
‘The choice on a Saturday night between Simon Cowell’s The X Factor attempting the lifelong destruction of a human being’s self-esteem – and that’s just his fellow judges – and the gentle world of the waltz and I’ll take Strictly any day.’
I even risked the ire of the sisterhood, writing that ‘at a time when we are uncertain of our roles, it is refreshing to have them defined for us: boy grabs girl and they dance their hearts out.’
Part of Strictly’s magic was that it harked back to a more innocent and straightforward age, when women could enjoy having a strong man’s arm around them.
Comparing it to The X Factor, I said there was a ‘wonderful absence of malice on this show, it’s like a breath of fresh air’.
All of which is hard to reconcile with what Strictly has become, its very existence threatened by a series of rehearsal room bullying scandals as it gears up for its 20th anniversary series.
It all kicked off in January, when Amanda Abbington asked to see footage of her rehearsals with pro dancer partner Giovanni Pernice before going on to accuse him of being ‘unnecessarily cruel, abusive and mean’ in training, leaving her with Post Traumatic Stress disorder and – rather pettily – a bruised toe.
In the intervening months, she has given so many interviews to such a wide range of media outlets that many fans now see her as being on a one-woman mission to destroy Strictly.
Last week on Channel 4 News she tearfully told presenter Krishnan Guru-Murthy how she suffered ‘humiliating behaviour of a sexual nature’ at the hands of Giovanni. She has even hired top law firm Carter-Ruck and seems to be seeking damages for loss of earnings and compensation for the trauma she claims she suffered.
Giovanni, for his part, denies all the claims. He has retained lawyers of his own from Schillings, claiming the BBC failed in their duty of care by partnering him with a celebrity, who was clearly vulnerable. Amanda had given an interview saying that she had considered suicide following her split from Sherlock actor and partner of 16 years Martin Freeman.
Part of the problem is that it is not just the dancers who have become more and more demanding over the years, the judges have, too.
The original panel – Len Goodman, Arlene Phillips, Craig Revel Horwood and Bruno Tonioli – were a benevolent bunch. Yes, they made great jokes about terrible dancers but it was never malicious and they were full of warm praise for the high achievers.
Over time, the judges changed and the new ones were more critical than their predecessors. As they explained the intricacies of certain dance techinques and where the celebs were going wrong, it sometimes felt that the show had became a punishing exercise in ballroom technique, not a joyful celebration of learning to dance.
And the pro dancers were becoming as famous – if not more famous – than the celebrities they partnered. Did this contribute to their burgeoning egos and supercharge their will to win? I fear it did.
Footage of them putting their partners through the wringer as they honed their skills in rehearsals had the air of a bootcamp rather than a dance studio.
In the early days of Strictly, scores of 10 from the judges were as rare as hens’ teeth, now they’re showered like confetti on even the most average dancers.
Remember when Top Gear’s Quentin Wilson got two 1s on the first ever series in 2004 before he was eliminated.
Or the time Susannah Constantine’s Foxtrot with Anton Du Beke was given 1 by judge Craig.
And how can we forget John Sergeant’s tally of 1, 3, 4, 4 for his 2009 cha cha cha, during which he dragged – literally – pro partner Kristina Rihanoff across the ballroom floor.
These sorts of scores were entirely appropriate given that the original premise of the show was that the celebrity contestants all be amateurs. Last year, however, it was revealed that no fewer than eight of the celebrities had previous dance experience.
I get it that 20 years is a long time in showbiz and programmes must move with the times. That’s why, as time went on, Strictly slowly became more woke, more inclusive, more box-ticking. But it became far more demanding of participants, too.
Oh for the days back in 2004 when a real novice Natasha Kaplinsky took to the dance floor with Brendan Cole and won the first series, transformed from a rather uptight newsreader – I’d even nicknamed her ‘Spangles’ – into an elegant swan.
I’m afraid I truly lost my faith in Strictly when they recruited the celebrity Layton Williams last year. I understand the appeal to Beeb bosses of his moving back story: the gay son of an impoverished white mother and an absentee Jamaican dad. He seemed a lovely guy and was an exquisite dancer.
And was paired with pro Nikita Kuzmin to be Strictly’s first ever male same-sex couple. All great for diversity but a disaster for the show, as they are both professional dancers.
What amateur celeb stood a chance against someone like Layton who had been a professional dancer since childhood, appearing as the West End star of Billy Elliot aged 12, before going on to star in the musicals Everyone’s Talking About Jamie and Hairspray!
So whatever the verdict of the BBC’s internal inquiry into the bullying claims, for me, Strictly has been tarnished for ever.
The BBC has serious questions to answer about its handling of contestants and professionals alike. These will go all the way up to the door of its director general Tim Davie, who last week could only parrot corporate-speak, insisting the corporation ‘will never tolerate unacceptable behaviour’ and that ‘the line should never be crossed’.
Well, with this debasement of the jewel in the Beeb’s crown, that line has already been crossed and we fans are very cross.
Amanda’s legal battle alone threatens to grind on for months, if not years, with all the lurid headlines that go with it.
It all seems a million miles away from the original Strictly when Bruce Forsyth would greet us all with: ‘Nice to see you, to see you…’ and we would joyfully shout back at him ‘Nice!’