There are tears.
Episode two begins, and I am veeeery impressed by the opening dance sequence, until I realise that the celebrities aren't even on stage yet, and it's actually all their partners dancing together. Actually I'm still impressed, I'm just not quite so surprised.
Roger Farrelly's daughter is helping him practise at home, and she tells him he's so bad that they'll change the rules just to be able to send him home (no one is up for elimination this week). Grace Farrelly is savage. Grace Farrelly is all of us if our dads wanted to dance on national television. I am SO impressed with his dancing though, but then the judges give him straight sixes, and I wonder if I'm actually just distracted by the mesh singlet. (Also is it just me, or does his voice not match his face?)
Zac Franich starts off by saying he probably came across as a stiff, cardboard cutout person on The Bachelor, and I just don't know that introducing dancing into the mix has expelled that impression. Judge Rachel calls him Quasimodo, and I don't know about Zac, but if someone called me that, I would remember those words until my untimely death after a lifetime in a bell-tower.
I'd like to pause here to give an honourable mention to Judge Julz. His hair doesn't move, and his face is better maintained than mine, which freaks me out a bit until I remember that his job involves sequins and spray tans and famous people dancing, while mine involves sitting on the couch in my pyjamas with my laptop and a bar of chocolate.
Naz comes out dressed as a cheerleader and does a cartwheel so I'm already resentful, because learning to cartwheel was my 2017 New Year's resolution and I still can't bloody do it. She's very gracious in accepting criticism, which weirdly surprises me - was I expecting her to drop in a 'fuck you' to the judges? Maybe. I wouldn't have been totally shocked.
David Seymour has devised a spreadsheet to help him remember what to do during his dance, but I can't place too much judgement on that, because I have several comprehensive checklists on my phone, a meal plan in my diary, and a serious problem with chalkboard labels in my pantry. During his performance, there's a giant motorbike onstage, which seems like a totally unnecessary prop, but maybe he's just really going method with this and getting into his leather jacket wearing character. David surprises me by not being quiiiiite as awkward as expected, and the studio audience are with me, because Judge Camilla gets boos from the crowd after her not-totally-complimentary comments.
IT'S SUZY TIME. Look TV3, I see you. I see that you've left her 'til last so that I'll stay tuned. I can see what you're doing and I am putty in your hands because here I bloody am. I love Suzy Cato. I think we, as a nation, love Suzy Cato. When my brother was little he wrote in to Suzy's World to ask why, if cows eat green grass, milk is white. Maybe some people think that's a stupid question. But I bet Suzy didn't. Let me level with you here. I am a soft touch. Most of Suzy's performance I am v emotional. It starts when she gets tearful speaking about her nominated charity, the Mental Health Foundation, and turns into near sobbing when her children join her after she dances and tell her how proud they are and how much they love her. She's really good. I basically tune the judges out in case they say anything other than 'Suzy you were really good'.
As I mentioned, no one gets sent home this week (despite Grace Farrelly's sick burns to her dad), and I guess that's fair. Everyone gets a good go, and a chance to use the judge's critiques to make next week's routines better. Yadda yadda yadda. But come on. We're here for the cutthroat stuff, we're ready to pick a judge we hate, we're ready for a dislocation, we're ready to decide who the underdog is and then be devastated when they come second. So I'm in TV3. You've got me. I'll be here on my couch, in my PJs, until the bloody final.