Strictly Come Dancing

Can you believe that we were Strictly novices in our house? Apart from the "my dad nearly being on TV with Len Goodman and Ann Widdecombe" incident, we'd never really encountered it. In our life B.C. (before child) we probably (though not necessarily) had more exciting things to do on a Saturday night than watch telly. In our P.C. (post child) life, during which we watch far too much telly, Strictly always clashed with child bedtime - bath, stories, cuddles, faffing, not going to sleep - so we could never sit down and give it a go.

But suddenly here we were as a family all willingly watching a TV series together for the first time. It wasn't Netflix or CBBC just being on and annoying in the background while our daughter played with her toys and we slightly more surreptitiously played on our phones. We were all focused and keen and - after a while - obsessed. It started when our daughter heard about Aston and Janette's Trolls dance from a friend at school and asked to watch it on iPlayer. Johnnie Peacock had already piqued Mummy and Daddy's interest in Strictly during an interview on The Last Leg. Then our daughter completely fell in love with him, and we just had to carry on watching. I couldn't be prouder of her first crush, which at one point I was worried would end up being Chase from Paw Patrol. If she brings home nice young men like Johnnie (or nice young women like Oti) in her future years, then all will be happy in our household. Just not so keen on the Alsatians.

I think our daughter's motivation was partly that it meant she could stay up late and postpone her bedtime faffing on both Saturday and Sunday nights. But how joyful it is watching people learning to dance. And how unexpectedly good some people turn out to be. Like Joe, who eventually won. And Davood. Susan Calman quickstepping with Kevin to Bring Me Sunshine was a personal highlight. Obviously the best dancers were the ones who had already had plenty of training and experience like Alexandra and Debbie, but I can see why they are the ones who struggle to get the votes at times - it's a very British thing to support the underdog.

Now we realise just how much we have missed over the years - all of Bruce Forsyth's, Len Goodman's, Ed Balls', John Sergeant's, Judy Murray's and yes, even Ann Widdecombe's appearances.

The timing of our new family obsession was perfect, as our daughter then got the part of a judge in her school play, Lights Camel Action!, which was a sort of Strictly: The Nativity. She played the Innkeeper's Wife, with lines like: "Never mind a bucket of frogs - it was fun, fresh and funky!" and "I loved the bells and watching all you young men leaping around!" Miraculously she learned them all perfectly. The teachers made her watch extra Strictly in class so she could channel her inner Darcey Bussell a little more effectively.

Though with essence of Craig at times...

Of course Caesar had all the best lines, darlings. The aforementioned bucket of frogs on the camel funk: "Legs, humps and hooves all flying around with no sense of timing." On the tango: "That had all the passion of a wet fish in a paper bag." But he did love the "extension in the arms" in the Angels' Ballet, and as for the Disco Star: "Give me big hair and some glitter and I'm away... "

It was a fun show and the teachers made their own Strictly dance video to show to parents at the end. So nice to see them still with smiles on their faces after the most interminable of terms.

Our daughter cried when Johnnie had to go home, insisting that Debbie should have been made to hop on one leg in the dance-off to make it more equal. She kind of had a point, but Johnnie was happy that the judges had made no allowances for his disability. Craig didn't like Johnnie's bum sticking out, and that was that.

Shakespeare Live

Borrowed from another William, Bill Bryson

The clue was in the title. What we expected - and wanted - was an evening of Shakespeare live from the RSC. Since we don't get to go out much any more. Since York's theatre has been closed for the past year (and hardly ever does Shakespeare when it is open).

What we got was largely a load of dumbed down dross. To mark the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare's death (or his 452nd birthday, depending on whether you are a glass half full or half empty kind of person), the folk at Stratford had staged a celebration of his work - or rather, a celebration of the influence of his work. This meant that the Bard's actual words were for the most part pushed aside by musicals, opera, ballet, comedy sketches and hip-hop.

A garden near to Stratford-on-Avon in the style of Anne Hathaway

Mnah. I suppose it was well-intentioned. Joseph Fiennes showed us some nice footage of Anne Hathaway's cottage and garden through the seasons in a sort of Alan Titchmarsh meets Monty Don kind of way. But did most of the people watching at home really need a Horrible Histories sketch to explain who Shakespeare was? This wasn't a child-friendly production. (We saw Judi Dench snogging Al Murray dressed as a donkey, for starters.)

For most of the two hours, they stuck to the funny stuff, just throwing in some tragedies towards the end. Even the excerpt from Henry V was the only scene in the whole play with a joke. They only let that famous speech from Hamlet happen after it had been mocked by Tim Minchin, Benedict Cumberbatch and, er, Prince Charles. Who had almost as many lines as Cumberbatch. That was another marker of the evening - the good, gritty stuff was too brief. Like Lady Macbeth's candle. They could have given Benedict more to do. He wasn't even allowed to play the character whose name he almost shares. It seems crazy that a botched song from Kiss Me Kate was allowed to go on for what felt like hours when soliloquays from King Lear or Richard II flashed by in an instant.

And then there was David Tennant and Catherine Tate, transported from the TARDIS to be the Sam Fox and Mick Fleetwood of the evening, doing the links. When will people learn that nobody can read an autocue? It's what makes award ceremonies so excruciating, the news sound weird, and George W Bush sound like a moron. (And he didn't need much help.)

Juliet's Balcony (allegedly), Verona

Tennant and Tate both proved at other times during the evening that they can act. Unlike the terrible couple picked to perform the balcony scene from Romeo And Juliet, a play which got far more attention than it deserved. There were other great performances - David Suchet, Roger Allam, Anne-Marie Duff, Ian McKellan and Antony Sher did not disappoint. At the end, Helen Mirren as Prospero smirked at the audience and stole the show.

Some of the better things were on video. Songs sung by Alison Moyet and Ian Bostridge. (Not together, obviously.) And Simon Russell Beale. Oh, Simon Russell Beale. Don't ever dumb Shakespeare down; just make Simon Russell Beale do it. He'll make sure you understand it. He'll make you LOVE it. For Simon Russell Beale is never anything short of incredible. I am so lucky to have seen him in numerous productions (Shakespeare and non-Shakespeare) at the National Theatre when I lived in London - from Life of Galileo to Hamlet to Candide. He was amazing in every single one. So much so that I once saw him on the Tube and nearly said something. But I was scared I would start gushing uncontrollably, and the poor guy was just trying to get to work. And you don't talk to people on the Tube, EVER.

I have seen the RSC do many wonderful things over the years - at the Theatre Royal in Newcastle (£3 for a student stand-by seat in the gods), the Barbican in London, and most recently Henry VI Part 3 in a temporary theatre in Stratford known as "The Rusty Shed". (The Swan was being rebuilt.) But the person who introduced me to Shakespeare died recently, and so it was him I remembered on Saturday night. He was the Head of English at my school and put on a Shakespeare play every year. He too had been in the RSC, though we always joked that it was playing third tree to Judi Dench's Lady Macbeth. Which is possibly why he always tended to cast himself in the lead role. To be fair he was the only male available - it was an all girls' school, with a token three boys in the Sixth Form, none of whom could act. Generally our productions were like some mass Shakespeare's Globe gender reversal. But this teacher knew his stuff. Thanks to a bout of flu taking me out of A Midsummer Night's Dream, the only play I was ever in was Macbeth ("Hot potato, orchestra stalls, Puck will make amends!"). I had four lines and was then murdered, where I then had to lie dead on stage while Macduff and Macbeth did battle (with real swords) above my head. But I was also in the chorus and got to see the workings of the entire production and learn it by heart. And while we may not have given the best performance of the text ever ("Within this three mile may you see it coming; I say, a moving groove" said one of my friends earnestly as Birnam wood approached Dunsinane), I still think his interpretation of it was second to none. As they say, nobody ever forgets a good teacher. Dr Peter Cochran, RIP.

A moving groove