Wot you sayin'?

Cut Me Some Slack (Samba week No. 2)

As I cleaned myself up, I looked through all the clips of training footage and saw there were so many. My mind went to mine and Dianne's Paso doble reaction video when I said to the viewers about doing a review of the samba—I'd only do it if we go through. Well, if we—I say we—if I carry on the way I'm going, all this footage will go to waste. I wasn't even joking. This week has been too stressful for me to relive it voluntarily.

What I really love about Dianne as a teacher is that she knows when something isn't going well and she changes it. She doesn't keep beating a dead horse. Even though she has to do that for me, she still expresses confidence in me. I believe in you. You can do this, I'm proud of you, she's said to me before. She hasn't said it to me once today. Admittedly, it's only the second day of training, so she hasn't had reason to express confidence in my ability to do the samba.

As we went through it, I struggled to find any changes. I spoke too soon. There were moments I noticed some things had changed. As I performed the routine I was wondering if there were any recognisable samba steps in there. I mean the vultures and samba rolls would probably get the cut because I was awful at them. There must have been other steps there, but I couldn't remember what they were.

At least Stacey was right though. Looking back, I could see I had progressed to dad dancing. The only bits Dianne liked was the very beginning when I chucked my drumsticks away, waved and sometimes did a rock and roll gesture. Then it usually went downhill from there.

There was one time where it was more or less halfway through when Dianne cut us off and I almost audibly screamed.

"Cut me some slack, OK! I've never danced before Strictly in my life."

"You can't keep using that line, Joe. This is week 8! We've been dancing 10 weeks in total." Nine. "We've been having something like 12 hour days four days a week. You're not completely without experience now." She muttered something under breath when I felt blood coming out of my nose again. Today had been the worst for them. "Get something to eat. Read something on here and find something that works for you." She handed me her phone and I saw a list of Google results for "help stop stress nosebleeds." I kept replaying in my mind, You know, because I care. That was out of line; clearly this proves it. "I'm gonna change the choreography again." I nodded.

"What shall I get you?"

"Nothing. I've eaten." I didn't believe her for a second but I didn't give it away. I'd better find foods that help you sleep.

I looked back at Dianne who was rubbing her face. I just wished she would let me hug her. I didn't have to say anything. I was completely at a loss why she would reject me like that. Hugs were really the only thing I knew to do in these situations, so for her not to want it left me in classic Joe Sugg mode: deer in the headlights.

I didn't need to ask her what was wrong. She'd either tell the truth, that is, she's sick and tired of my dancing and she's just plain tired. She needs sleep, and clearly she's not getting enough, or probably any, sleep. The other possibility was to snap at me, which is much more likely to happen.

I looked at the screen as I walked downstairs to the cafe, holding the tissue to my nose in one hand and scroll through the phone with the other. I internally laughed at some of the suggestions (avoid strenuous exercise; avoid stressors), but ice was one that used to work a treat for me. Where to get it though? Stay hydrated. That's doable.

I looked at the suggestions for food that helps you sleep and had a genius idea. So I popped into the local food shop and saw the meal deal. Check, check, check. Then I found something for myself and ate it on my way back. I stuffed Dianne's things into a bag and, entering our training room, I put it by the door.

"Let's try again." It came out more sarcastic than I'd intended. "Sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound so sarcastic." She didn't respond at all. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to make things worse, but I couldn't keep tip toeing around her either.

At the end of the day, many dances later, countless mistakes later and when the guy in the corner left, I told Dianne I'd got her a few things.

"They're supposed to help you sleep." Her back was to me so I couldn't see her face. "Love you." I didn't hear her say anything in return. For the first time in years I felt my eyes well up with tears.