claytoncast

Well. Here we are again. Another Christmas has arrived like a relative you vaguely remember liking but can’t quite recall why — carrying a tin of something homemade and an opinion about the heating. And before anyone panics: yes, this is a Christmas message, not a manifesto, not an invoice, and not (despite appearances) the opening chapter of a memoir. That comes later. Possibly January. Possibly never. Let’s see how the mince pies go. First things first: hello. Hello to friends, followers, readers, lurkers, accidental subscribers, Peep Show quiz champions, and those who only know me as “Sophie’s dad off the telly” — a title I now wear with the pride of a man who’s finally stopped explaining himself at dinner parties. This year, like most years, has been… instructive. There have been moments of joy, moments of terror, moments when the boiler made a noise suggesting it had opinions. There has been work, waiting for work, working out why the work hasn’t replied, and then suddenly doin...

For many years I was a faithful viewer of Strictly Come Dancing. From around Series 4 until just after Covid, it was a Saturday-night ritual. Over time, though, my enthusiasm waned. Possibly age. Possibly lifestyle. Possibly the discovery that sequins, like novelty, have a shelf life. I tried to introduce Brayden to it last year. This was met with the polite bafflement normally reserved for explaining landlines. This year, however, I had a reason to watch. A close friend of mine, Lewis Cope — recently of Emmerdale and of many years’ friendship — was drafted in at the last minute. Let’s be clear: Lewis is not a trained dancer. Yes, he played Michael in Billy Elliot at eleven. Yes, he once danced in a tap show. But then he did what actors do: he went to drama school. On Strictly, of course, anyone who can distinguish left from right is accused of an unfair advantage. The truth is it’s no longer really a dance competition. It’s a popularity poll with lifts. Lewis was theatrical, c...