Well, Nancy's got chutzpah, I'll give her that. I wouldn't want to cross you, that's for sure. One lift of one of those finely arched brows and any withering putdowns would curl up and die on the tip of my tongue. This outburst of Nancy's is clearly all bluster and front. The footage of you rehearsing, hips winding and swaying like a seductive boa constrictor, coupled with the... shall we say 'amorous indiscretions' of your younger self; I think she realises that she may have finally met her match - the lady doth protest too much, and all that. Lulu, Anita Dobson, Holly Valance - they're so, well, obvious, aren't they? She understands exactly what she's up against with them, she knows those enemies like she knows herself. But you, in your high necklines and low hemlines and sensible dancing shoes - ok, so you may be marginally rounder of hip, but that just means even greater scope for more glitter and rhinestones - she's baffled. And therefore threatened. You don't need to show her who's boss, I'd say she already knows.
