Strictly Speaking

Anton du Beke speaks to Lee Knights

I'm with Anton at his publisher's in southwest London to talk about his second book, B Is For Ballroom, out in time for Christmas. He looks fresh as a daisy, casually dressed and sporting designer stubble. On and off the box, in top hat and tails or polo shirt and black trousers, Anton is dapper.

'I have no more idea than you do who I'll be partnered with until I find out live on the show along with everyone else. But let's just say when I see the line-up, I have a fair idea. The lithe, 20-something little whippets go to the young boys. When they make the announcement, my face will probably twitch nervously, then the wide smile will take over,' he laughs.

One regret for Anton this year is that Darcey Bussell is joining as a judge, not a dancer. 'I wanted Darcey as a dance partner,' he says. 'The judges say two things that get on my nerves: "Oh, so-and-so danced that like a professional" – of course they didn't, they danced it like a good beginner. And when they say "Soand- so led his partner very well". Of course they didn't – there's no way on earth they could lead a professional lady ballroom dancer. Put two of the celebrity dancers together on the floor without a professional and they'd look like a bag of spanners.'

After 10 years of Strictly, Anton and Erin are the only professional couple left standing. 'I've no idea why we have survived and others haven't. But I'd hate to think I'd fail because I hadn't worked hard enough,' he says.

Anton's laddish charm – his first job was selling beds in Petts Wood – is camouflage for a dedication to good, old-fashioned values of hard work and self-discipline. 'I have champagne in the fridge but I don't drink it. Haven't touched alcohol since I was 18. I don't smoke, don't drink, don't do drugs.'

But eating, he says, can be a problem. 'It's not that I don't enjoy eating. I never eat at home, I always eat out and I eat well, no fast food. But it's just that I don't eat often enough, there's too much to do.'

It's a philosophy he says comes from his Spanish mother, Ascensión. Growing up in Sevenoaks in Kent, money was short. 'Mum worked in a nursing home and a bus depot canteen. When I was 14, I went to pick up my sister from her dance class. I found myself in a room full of beautiful girls so I went back the next week. The teacher dragged me into the class. I loved it. But Mum said, "If you're going to dance, you'll do it properly and make a commitment to it". We were brought up with a strong work ethic.'

'Dance is my life,' he says. 'I just loved musicals when I was a kid. I remember watching Fred Astaire and Bing Crosby perform I'll Capture Your Heart Singing in Holiday Inn on the telly one Christmas. It's brilliant.

'There I was, growing up in Sevenoaks with foreign parents (Anton's Hungarian father died in 2001); these films made me feel comfortable. Fred Astaire was my idol. It was his looselimbed walk, his comfort in dancing with a partner. I thought, that's exactly what I wish I was.'


And what of Anton's own personal Ginger Rogers? 'Erin is wonderful. She's not at all starry. If I want to ask someone about what I'm doing and want to know the truth, I go to Erin. She keeps my feet on the ground.

'After 15 years, we've been together longer than a lot of marriages. She makes it worthwhile. I couldn't dance with anybody else. It'd be like Dean without Torvill. If I couldn't dance with Erin, I'd retire.'

Anton and Erin first got together in 1997 for a 'try out'. 'Erin impressed me. It was her determination. She left everything behind, family and friends in New Zealand to come to the UK to learn and compete at the highest level. It was that like-mindedness, the work ethic, that drew us together – and still does,' Anton reflects.

While he's not competing for top ballroom titles any more – at the top of their career, Anton and Erin were ranked in the world's top two dozen dancers – he's lost none of his drive. He's branched out into gymnastics and singing and is learning tap dance. 'You wouldn't believe how bad I am at it. About as bad as a non-tappy thing.'

What makes Anton dance? 'It's not about a quest to be the best. I love dancing and want to improve, there's no joy in staying the same. Dancing at the highest level is about an unattainable goal of weightlessness, dancing as if your partner isn't there, in perfect balance and harmony. Difficult to find.'

After partnering him in the first series of Strictly, Lesley Garrett famously said, 'All the women in the world should spend half an hour with Anton du Beke'. I ask Anton what he thinks she meant. 'I'd like to think it was because I try to make sure my celebrity partners enjoy themselves and have the best time. For me, it's all or nothing. I'd just hate it if one of the celebrities said she'd had a rubbish time with me,' he says.

'I've stayed friends with all my girls – Lesley, Esther (Rantzen), Nancy (Dell'Olio), Ann (Widdecombe) and all the others. The Strictly experience is a funny old thing, very intense. They'll have to carry me off that show in a box.'

How does Anton feel about being touted as a future Strictly presenter? 'No one can take Bruce's place. He's my idol, my hero. I love the man. I did a turn on stage with Bruce to Me And My Shadow. It was the best moment of my career. He's a real entertainer. We don't have them any more. A proper star. Magic.'

B Is For Ballroom by Anton du Beke is published on 4 October by Constable & Robinson, priced £14.99.

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Bruno Tonioli speaks to Richard Barber

Bruno Tonioli is in reflective mood. 'I've always believed,' he says, 'that we're each dealt an individual hand of cards. It's how you play them that makes the difference. I'm an only child. My parents gave me a peasant, working- class grounding, a common sense. For example, eat all the food in the house before you go out and buy some more.

'They also taught me a respect for money and that you should never be in anyone's debt. Their dearest wish for me was that I would become something respectable like an accountant or work in a bank.' (Even today, all these years later, he arches an eyebrow at the patent absurdity of such a fate.) 'Well, that was never going to happen.

'I don't know where I got my creative drive from but I was aware of it from the youngest age. I knew that I'd leave home at 18 (it was against the law in Italy to move away before then) and that I'd pursue my dream of dancing and performing. My parents' wishes clashed with my ambition and produced massive rows.

'Sometimes, I felt I must have come from Mars. I just didn't fit in with any of the people around me. I remember deliberately reinventing myself in my mid-teens. I transformed myself from being overweight and spotty to becoming slim and more sophisticated with a flamboyant sense of style. I was something of a personality in my town and I loved it. I've always been able to dance; it was an innate ability. When I went to clubs, people would form a circle round me and watch.'

Then there was his sexuality. 'I knew very early on that I was different. I remember swimming in the local pond and watching the boys. I can't yet have been a teenager but I felt a sort of tingle – I didn't understand it properly at the time – that told me I was attracted to them. I was popular with the girls because I was a good dancer and I made them laugh. And, of course, they felt safe with me.'

We are sitting in his chic garden flat in London's Maida Vale, Bruno dressed in what he calls his year-round 'uniform' of black T-shirt, tracksuit bottoms and flip- flops. ('I just turn up the heating in the winter.') Ever since a 20-year relationship ‰ finally ran its course, Bruno has lived here alone but he is not complaining.

'I like cooking, gardening, reading; very simple things. I'm with people all the time connected to my work so I enjoy my own company when I'm at home. I love coming back to my nest.'


His professional passport to freedom came via a dance company, La Grande Eugene, which took him to Rome, Hamburg, Paris and, ultimately, London, where he's lived ever since. 'The opening ceremony of the Olympics,' he says, 'proved exactly what it is I like about Britain: you know how to laugh at yourselves. Your sense of humour is unique.

'To survive, I developed the knack of telling jokes against myself when I was growing up. So it's no surprise that I should respond to self-deprecating British humour. It's why I've lived here for so many years. I've never liked people who take themselves too seriously.'

As a dancer and then choreographer, Bruno was quickly in demand for TV commercials and music videos with some of the biggest names of the day – everyone from Elton John and Duran Duran to Bananarama and the Stones – a career that did his bank balance no harm at all. 'Well, it's how I could a ord to buy this  at in 1991,' he says, with a sweep of his right hand.

Well respected in the industry, he might have remained behind the scenes. Then, in 2004, he took a call from his agent telling him that the BBC was auditioning for judges for a new pro-celeb dance competition. 'I said yes,' he recalls, 'but I was busy with lots of other work, like collaborating with Simon [Cowell] on his new signing, Il Divo.'

Many auditions later ('The search to find the actress to play Scarlett O'Hara took less time,' he quips), he was installed as a Strictly Come Dancing judge alongside Len Goodman, Craig Revel Horwood and Arlene Phillips. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Now he's embarking on the 10th series of a show that is one of the BBC's biggest hits. Moreover, it's spawned many similar series around the world, not least in America where Dancing With The Stars, as it's called there, has as two of its judges none other than Bruno himself and the redoubtable Len Goodman.

So how does the likeable Italian explain this sustained success? 'All I can say is that all the different elements somehow clicked. And Strictly does possess a major feel-good factor on a Saturday night. It's old-fashioned entertainment and fun for all the family.'

He's just written his infectiously chatty autobiography. 'But I never think about retiring,' he insists. 'I like being busy. If my TV career ended, I might take up painting. Who knows?' Not that he's in the least bit worried.

'We think we're in charge of our own destiny but my life has shown that isn't true. But I always had faith, which, combined with drive, carries you forward. Your motivation should never be a desire for fame. Do something you love and, if fame is a byproduct of that, then all well and good. If you have a true passion, then it would be criminal not to follow it.'

So, he's a happy man? A face-splitting smile appears. 'I'm happier than I've ever been,' he declares.

Bruno Tonioli: My Story, is published by Headline, priced £20.