Unlike "Shropshire's worst farmer", who royally entertained me one entire dinner-party with his fantasy marriage to her, this is not a five-knuckle shuffle-note to the table-top whirling dervish that is Ola.
When she first joined the show, Ola danced entirely for herself, and women took an instant dislike to her, which multiplied exponentially with each husband's lurid aside and dribble. But this series she has done a bang-on, top-notch, Polish pukka job turning John Hollins's son into a passable imitation of a mincing hoofer.
Those of us who hitched a ride aboard this great pink sequinned campervan of love have now paid for Christmas and I'll probably even win back-to-back betleagues later this afternoon.
Ola, our nation's manhood salutes you.
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