THEY say you that can tell what sort of lover a man will be from the way he dances.

Which explains why David Brent took so long to get a girl. And why good old Bruce Forsyth has a beautiful and adoring wife who's younger than most of his wigs.

The gargantuan-chinned god of Saturday night family entertainment is back with the scarily popular Strictly Come Dancing (BBC1, Saturday, 6.30/ 9.25) and although he may be 77, the old hips were looking anything but in need of replacement. In fact he was sashaying and pirouetting like a young Nureyev and the ever-present glint in his eye was proof that, despite a million years in the business, the old hoofer's still having an absolute ball(room).

Brucie's hosting partner is once again the golden Tess Daly. Tess is married to former male model and now telly presenter/Radio One DJ, Vernon Kay. Together this pair makes up the most attractive couple in Britain - yet they are from Bolton. Weird.

Anyway, back to the show and for the sake of Doris from Kinson who was away at her daughter's in Outer Mongolia for a while, the premise is that various celebrities are paired up with professional dancers who teach them a few moves and together they go on to compete each week in ballroom showdowns.

A so-called judging panel of experts passes comment on the performances, but it's merely a means of ensuring there's plenty of obligatory Simon Cowell-esque barbs to get the audience booing and hissing because each week it's us, the public, who decides which of the would-be Fred & Gingers gets the boot (black-patent, kidskin, Cuban-heeled, of course).

I have to confess that I avoided the previous two series of SCD (as they call it in the biz) like the plague. Luvvies en masse are bad enough at the best of times, but chuck a pile of sequined frocks and nipped-waist tuxedos at them and you're getting close to unbearable.

However, in the name of duty, I yanked on my lime-green satin evening gloves and slathered myself in Hint of Satsuma fake tan and took to the floor (well the sofa) for the third series.

And, oh go on then, I really enjoyed it.

Seeing Brucie all spruced up and larking about like a good 'un was like being back on my mum's beige leather corner suite, finishing off a slice of Arctic Roll while watching the Generation Game.

Even the pointless panel thing was amusing in its way and far less staged than the Sharon/Simon/Louis thing going on over on ITV1 (The X-Factor, 6pm/8.35pm).

And seeing the good-humoured, but obviously hard work put in behind-the-scenes by the pros to get the clueless celebs tripping the light fantastic as opposed to over their own feet was good fun.

All the pre-show publicity helped too, and by the time it aired I was mildly curious to see how little Fiona Philips off GMTV would do, up against her sofa rival, BBC Breakfast's Bill Turnbull (who also had to compete with the spectre of his highly competitive colleague and previous SCD winner, the dead-eyed Natasha Kaplinsky, hovering over him).

On the night, Fiona looked lovely, but sadly danced like she had a pole up her dress. Mind you, in my (now) expert opinion, the panel were totally over-the-top about just how terrible she was. It wasn't that bad.

See, I'm getting in to it.

Turnbull, on the other hand, looked like a prat, but danced like a trouper, shimmying and sliding, turning and twisting for all he was worth under the watchful eye, hand, legs, whatever of Bournemouth's very own Karen Hardy, former world Latin dance champ.

In fact, thanks to Karen's crowd-pleasing choreography - including the cunning use of a trilby (always a winner, ask any am-drammer) - they almost won the thing.

Until the surprise of the night arrived in the shape of a terrified Zoe Ball, former ladette, former Radio One DJ, former everything in fact.

At about eight-feet tall and three stone (when wet) Ball was the first to admit that she wasn't exactly the epitome of elegance.

Oh, and that she had two left-feet, looked ridiculous in dresses, had low self-confidence and found the training really hard...

Talk about a surprise. When she took her partner for the waltz, resplendent in a very grown-up red gown, she looked incredibly elegant and poised and when they glided across the dance-floor as one, she was gracefully brilliant (even though you knew her knees were shaking under her frou-frou frock).

The judges fell at her gigantic feet, Brucie's rug almost did a pasa doble, Zoe was in floods, so was her dad (Johnny Ball, triv fans), who was in the audience and the viewers voted in their droves for the underdog and a brand new reality hero.

Come Dancing was never like this.