Razzle Dazzle through the Autumn Mists..

There is a smell of woodsmoke in the air. You could imagine, if you shut your eyes and stoppered your ears, that you were in an arboreal setting, not North London or South Herts. Whichever way the wind is blowing: rural it ain't. From my window, I can see my small Japanese Acer biblically turning into a burning bush. And my potted pansies and cyclamen are a reminder that this aching back of mine, is actually worth the effort. But the nights are fair drawing in, and the day seems to be over by five-thirty.
The autumn brings with it many joys but the ever diminishing daylight is not one of them. Too soon for Christmas lights, and a long-time avoider of illuminated pumpkins and ghastly Halloween trimmings, I turn to Strictly Come Dancing for my quota of glitter and glisten to offset the incipient gloam. I never like to follow the crowd, but here I am, with ten million others sucking up the sequinned sequences. I can happily read a newspaper through it, so that I miss the unmitigated tosh with which they pad it out, and tune in for the actual dancing.
I can't stand the most overworked word on this show: journey. If ever I refer to my Slimming journey then send in the trolls. (It is a bumpy, pot-holed ride in a Street Car Named Desire-for-chocolate, if you're asking..)
I am always amazed and enthralled by the contestants' progress - that, is the true pleasure.
It does, however, become increasingly irksome when the obvious stooge (this year ex-politician, Ed Balls) is kept in by the public vote. What it says to me is that, as a nation, we have not yet got over our primitive and abhorrent pleasure in watching dancing bears.