Before you read, I am already aware of how ridiculous this whole thing sounds, and how much amusement you'll probably gain from it at my expense, but I have not exaggerated one little bit. Writing about the sentiments I have for the show is just a way of dealing with my sadness that everything I loved about it will very soon be coming to an end.
At the beginning of 2004 I was 13 years old. I can’t remember being interested in much other than dancing and where my next pair of ballet shoes was coming from. Shortly after that, Strictly Come Dancing hit our screens; I quickly developed an intense and now embarrassing obsession with Natasha Kaplinsky (one I’ll vigorously deny these days ...) which meant I started waking up at 6.30am each weekday to watch BBC Breakfast and that was it. My morning routine has barely changed since. I’m now 20; an adult. I’m meant to be at that stage where I actually have a life, thus not allowing it to be ruled by minor TV pap but I still do ... I can’t let it go, but in the coming months, due to the programme’s relocation to media city, I am being forced to. It started like this ...
It was April 2004. Seven years ago. I woke up in the morning and whilst only semi conscious I’d hit the switch on the television in my bedroom and listen to Dermot and Natasha go through the newspapers. I never realised before that newsreaders ever strayed from their autocue, but here they seemed to and it was suddenly fascinating to me whenever Natasha commented, offering a personal view about one of the headlines, or if Dermot adlibbed as he handed to the sport.
Moreover, I loved waking up each morning and discovering what Natasha had chosen to wear and whether Dermot was complimenting this with his tie. Over time I became familiar with what must have been a jacket rota, and I’d always notice whenever she wore something new. All in all, I was transfixed by what seemed to me to be these two nice people, who read the news, wore nice clothes and had some personality, not to mention conduct interviews with politicians who at the time I’d never heard of, over issues I had no interest in. I wanted to be just like them, I concluded.
Occasionally, while Natasha was doing Strictly, they would discuss how training was going. It was like having some kind of behind the scenes access into how her dances were coming along. I thought she was brilliant. I loved in interviews how she never seemed flustered, always in control and yet, from seeing her on Strictly I knew there was a vulnerable person in there somewhere and not just a robot who read the news. I don’t particularly hold these flattering views of la Kaplinsky these days; I find her a little too dull, a little too careful and predictable and importantly a little bit too professional to be as human as I thought her to be then.
Shortly into my love affair with BBC Breakfast I was to have a nasty surprise to interrupt my mornings with Dermot and Natasha. I flicked my television into action again one Friday morning to find well ... I wasn’t sure The female presenter was like Natasha but her hair wasn’t as fiercely styled. I was angry. “Who are these WANNABE’S?!” I remember squeaking in disgust from my bedroom to my Mum who was watching in the kitchen. “Where’s Natasha? What’s that bitch done with her? She’s just a wannabe ... look at her sucking up to everyone. She’s just a Natasha wannabe!” Thinking back, I must have sounded like a toddler throwing her rattle out of the pram, the only problem was that I wasn’t an enfant I was a teenage girl who had become strangely possessed by the lure of a breakfast show and wanted those familiar faces back - my morning could not function without them. It was a turning point.
“Good morning, you’re watching Breakfast with Sian Williams and Bill Turnbull.” Their names chimed out. If only I knew then how much of my life I would dedicate to them. I watched for twenty minutes or so, still incensed that my precious D&N were not there. I decided they were both far too chirpy and bloody happy about everything. D&N had a certain gravitas that I believed was far more suitable to the moody teen I was, I could tell Natasha could be a right cow if she wanted to be, and I liked that. Sian was too damn twee for 6.30 in the morning. I resolved to hate them, no matter what.
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