In the latest series of ‘Look at me, I’m a C List Celebrity Dancing’, there has been yet more controversy. Richard Dawkins, Professor of Thinking from Oxford University, has been upsetting the regulars.
Following his attempt at a Quickstep, with professional partner Labia, Dawkins is grilled by the judges.
“Your Fishtail is too curved, your Running Right Turn is too loose around the floor and your dancing pants are too tight around the crotch!” hisses Tiny Tonioli, tossing his head in disdain.
The crowd boo distractedly, not sure which side they are going to take yet.
“If you were anymore uptight we’d have to take the rod out of your arse to get your trousers on!” shouts Ron Godman.
The crowd laugh. Yeah, Ron’s right, Dawkins does look a bit straight-laced.
Darling, the female judge, is under the desk struggling to open a bottle of gin with her teeth.
Bruce Forsyth moves on quickly to the last judge, Craig Reveal Horrid.
“It was too short, it was too long and it was backwards and forwards. I didn’t like it,” spouts Craig. The crowd have a good boo at Craig, Dawkins and the furniture.
“May I say something, Bruce?” asks Dawkins quietly.
“Yes, of course my love, you have your little say.”
“I would just like to state that I am against dancing because it teaches us to be satisfied with not understanding the world. To an honest judge, the alleged convergence between dancing and science is a shallow, empty, hollow, spin-doctored sham.”
The judges mouths fall open, they look at Dawkins, they look at the crowd, they look to the Lord of the Dance; Brucie.
“Alright, Richard, my love, but a lot of people find great comfort from dancing. Not everybody’s life is good, and dancing brings them comfort.”
“There are all sorts of things that would be comforting,” replies Dawkins, “I expect an injection of morphine would be comforting—it might be more comforting, for all I know. But to say that something is comforting is not to say that it’s true.”
The audience are deathly still now, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.
Dawkins continues in the same steady voice; “Most people, I believe, think that you need dancing to explain the existence of the world, and especially the existence of life. They are wrong, but our education system is such that many people don’t know it.
I believe that an orderly universe, one indifferent to human preoccupations, in which everything has an explanation even if we still have a long way to go before we find it, is a more beautiful, more wonderful place than a universe tricked out with capricious ad hoc magic and belief in Ballroom Dancing.”
The camera pans over the faces of the judges and the audience. Many people are sobbing, some hide their faces in their hands. A horrible little man who doesn’t know his Cucarachas from his Ronde Chasse has rocked the foundations of their faith.
For the first time ever Brucie cracks.
“Well you won’t be back next week, sweetheart! The audience here and at home aren’t going to be voting for your brand of nonsense!”
The crowd go mad, cheering for the great Forsyth and booing Dawkins.
But amongst them and on some of the sofas at home, some punters are still sitting quietly, many of them have tears in their eyes but behind that mist a little light has come on.
