Let me give you my “Sunday roast” approach: On a Wednesday morning, I brew a strong coffee, plop onto my sofa with a fleece blanket, and press play. I fast-forward through the judges’ long-winded comments (no, Derek Hough, we don’t need a 3-minute analogy about a swan). By Friday, I’ve watched the results. By Saturday, I’m messaging Gemma: “Did you see that lift? Outrageous.” It’s our little transatlantic ritual.
So, go on. Sort your subscriptions, set your alarm, and watch Dancing With The Stars from the comfort of your rainy UK living room. You’ll feel like a secret agent of entertainment. And hey, if anyone asks why you’re up at 6 a.m. watching cabaret, just say it’s for “cultural research.” They don’t need to know it’s for the glitter.
