Strictly snug seating

Irecently spent many hours sitting in cramped conditions squeezed up against my middle child, Cost Centre #2. Not the most comfortable experience. He complained loudly about the size of the audience chairs on the set of Strictly Come Dancing, but we squeezed into them anyway.

Being what the BBC terms a “production guest” means that you are allowed into the BBC café and bar. But Strictly, whose format has been adapted round the world and is known as Dancing with the Stars in the US, is a very sought-after ticket and getting a drink required fighting our way through a four-deep crowd, even elbowing Ann Widdecombe out of the way. You may wonder why I even wanted to go and see the show. I am, rather randomly, a great fan of Annunziata Dell’Olio, better known as Nancy, the Italian lawyer who moved to the UK with her then-boyfriend Sven-Göran Eriksson 10 years ago when the Swede became the coach of England’s football team.

I know some people wonder what the point of Nancy Dell’Olio is but I can totally see why we need her. I have never met Nancy but I am sure she would instantly qualify as a Girlfriend – she embraces life (and her adopted country) with gusto, has achieved a lot already, wants to achieve more, works hard and does a lot for charity. She also never lets anything derail her, whether it is the break-up of her relationship with Eriksson (or, along the way, his infidelities) or nearly tripping up over her feather boa while dancing on live TV. Plus, despite being a few months older than me, she looks fantastic, better than I have looked at any age. When you are approaching 50, you need such women to show that life is not over after five decades. Indeed, in many ways it may only just have started.

So I went to watch Nancy in action and was not disappointed. She put an almost unbelievable effort and energy into her dancing. For the second week in a row, despite coming last in the opinion of the judges, she was saved by the voting public; this turned out to be for the last time and she was evicted the next week. Pathetically, I was too embarrassed to go and say hello to her in the BBC café. Never mind, sometimes it is best not to meet your heroes.

Dell’Olio was born in New York, my destination the next day. Along with CC#2, I spent another few hours in cramped conditions. Fortunately, the BBC seats had been good practice for travelling economy. Invited to attend a meeting in NY, I decided not to leave my 17-year-old home alone. I would take him with me on air miles.

No air miles seats left to New York? No matter, we would go to Boston instead, stay the night and then take the train. Jolly scenic. Plus it gave me the chance to whisk him off to Cambridge to inspire him to aim high. If you saw a middle-aged, overweight mother with a 6ft teenager in tow wandering down an MIT corridor on a Sunday afternoon, then, yes, I had just walked in pretending I belonged there. Good 150th anniversary exhibition, by the way.

The air miles were not the only economy measure. CC#2 also had to share a hotel room with me, both in Boston and New York. Separate beds, so that was OK. The Intercontinental in Boston, picked because it was handy for the train station, decided to have a 4am emergency and we were all out on the street, dressed in our pyjamas. CC#2 was not amused. I pointed out the “Occupy Boston” tents nearby, where I hope I will never see him. Life isn’t fair, I reminded him, and neither is it always comfortable.

mrsmoneypenny@ft.com

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