Strictly Kim Dancing

Let me make one thing clear: I do not usually watch Strictly Come Dancing or any of the various other Saturday night sedatainment shows. But last night as I passed the telly I was stopped dead in my tracks as, glimpsing through the smallest corner of my right eye, I laid eyes upon a woman who is very special to me. The vixen of my youth, Emmerdale's Kim Tate (a.k.a. Claire King).



There she is with her lovely horse. The horse I lay awake dreaming about riding with her in my formative years. Gripping her around the waist with one arm as we leapt majestically over a gushing brook. Holding onto my hat with the other arm, shrieking wildly. And then just the two of us going back to Home Farm to watch reruns of Going For Gold with Henry Kelly while she tickled my back. Absolute bliss. My very own evil rich bitch.

Kim Tate was always neck and neck with Jet from Gladiators in my imaginary mental race for my affections. That tells you how high a regard I held her in - and still do. And then there she was last night... dancing the Mambo with a troupe of other minor celebrity women. The first time I've seen her on TV since she fled Emmerdale in a helicopter with all of Frank Tate's money some time in the mid-90s (I don't watch Bad Girls, obviously. Or Emmerdale anymore, obviously... only when it mattered).

Apparently she makes her real entry to the competition next Saturday. Suddenly my Saturday night diary is looking quite congested from 7.50pm onwards for the next few weeks. Don't call me, the phone will be off the hook. Apart from to ring and vote when she's in danger of being knocked out, of course.