Last night saw
the return of Strictly Come Dancing to our now not-so-small screens; the
eleventh series of the only reality-tinged TV show in which I’m ever likely to
show an interest.
Since the
beginning, Strictly has been hosted by the Light Entertainment veteran, Sir Bruce
Forsyth – and every year, like clockwork, we get the Brucie Backlash. People
line up on Facebook, Twitter and in the trashy press, calling for Bruce to
retire.
I, for one, am
having none of it: I love Bruce Forsyth.
The man is a
legend. He has spent seventy-four years in the business (seventy-four years: Christ) - and in that time has worked with just about anyone of note. Worked
with, and often shown up.
If you ever get
the chance, track down and watch the clip of him dancing with Sammy Davis Jnr. It's incredible.
Not many could keep up with an artist of that calibre. Brucie manages it. More than that: Brucie makes it look easy.
Despite being
eighty-five he hasn’t lost his spark.
So he fluffs the occasional bit of autocue. So what. There are plenty of presenters a quarter of his age that do that.
Earlier on this
year I went to see him at the Royal Albert Hall. It was glorious. He was on
stage for over two hours and had the audience in the palm of his hand from
the off. He sang, he danced, he ad-libbed - and kept up energy levels that would put most younger performers to shame.
Towards the end he performed a song on the subject of friends departed - and whilst he
sang, photographs of him alongside many a legendary entertainer flashed up on the screen behind him. Nat King Cole, Tommy
Cooper, Morecambe & Wise, Les Dawson, Ronnie Barker, The Goons...the list went on.
Each of
them were his contemporaries. Each of them are no longer with us.
Why do we only
afford these people the respect they deserve once they’ve departed? How
about, just the once, we cherish something whilst we’ve still got it?
Have a look at
the video clip below of him closing the show; if it doesn’t bring a lump to your throat then I suggest you check your pulse.