If you’re smart, you’ll treat the Strictly live show like a long-haul flight. Pack snacks. Stay hydrated. Wear comfortable trousers. Do not start a new Netflix series during the ad breaks because you will forget to unpause and miss Anton du Beke’s questionable commentary.
And for goodness’ sake, accept that you will not be doing anything productive afterward. The evening is gone. It has been consumed by sequins and Shirley Ballas’s applause meter. Resistance is futile. You will cry when the old man from Holby City attempts a Charlestonian and gets a standing ovation for basic footwork.
So, how long is the Strictly live show? In minutes? About one hundred and five to one hundred and twenty. In lived experience? Approximately three lifetimes. But honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s the perfect excuse to do absolutely nothing, eat everything in the pantry, and pretend you’re a dance expert while shouting at the TV. Go on, grab another biscuit. You’ve got time.
