WCXX

Strictly is now hurtling onwards, without me on board. Still, my journey was a smooth one, compared to some of the others, enhanced by an easy-going Anton and a lack of other pressing commitments. For example, Patrick (a charming, funny man who hid his dancing talent early on) has been filming Casualty in Cardiff, only training sporadically with Anya, and then suffered a major injury to his wrist.

Mark is the reliable comedy act with dodgy knees. How he managed that jive I'll never know. He enjoys a good whinge, but in rehearsals he kept us amused by slipping into a character that I named Herbert DeVere; the retired actor manager with a propensity for luvviness. "Now come along everyone," he would say, "You can do this. We have the motivation, we just need to up the game, yah?"

The handsome Ashley is filming Hollyoaks every day and trains from 7.00pm to midnight with Ola, who gets grumpy about the lack of time she has with him. Luckily he picks up the steps really quickly.

In Ben, Kristina has found a gentle giant with a willingness to chuck her around a lot. With the votes coming in from both the girls and the boys, Ben could be the one to beat! I always loved watching Kristina dance when I was a viewer, but up close she is a firecracker; precise, sharp and charismatic.

Sophie E-B has a delightful old-fashioned, ethereal quality and dances with such effortless style and grace. Her Charleston with Brendan will go down in Strictly history, I'm sure, as the best dance of the series, if not the whole 11 years. She has been busy putting the finishing touches to her album, sitting in quiet corners proofreading the text for the cover. I'd like her to win it – she and Brendan deserve to win it – but I fear the public vote is going to be less stylish.

The whole Blackpool experience was surreal from start to finish. We filmed a sequence at the top of the tower on the glass observation platform, with Anton attempting to lift me, surrounded by some bemused onlookers. After the show we were all invited to a noisy gay club, where the transvestite hostess squealed every time someone from Strictly walked in. The following morning I was photographed leaving the hotel without make-up – quelle horreur – much to my amusement. My husband drove me, and my hangover, slowly back to Gloucestershire.

So that's my Strictly adventure over and done with. It's back to real life now. Strangers smile and wave and the sense of joy is palpable. I have been part of an extravaganza that has entertained the nation for several weeks now and I have been stunned by the warmth and support. But there was a brief moment last Saturday night when, after everyone had come up and kissed me farewell, I found myself standing alone. That's showbiz.