Well, dress me in a pair of Aztec curtains and call me TuliSa. X-Factor.
Dermot, back in a suit that fitted him, called the finalists on stage for a live execution of ‘Somebody That I Used to Know.’ To be honest, the only way they could have humiliated Goyte any more would be to invite him on the show, strip him naked and stick sheet music up his bottom. Yes, it was that bad. Rural Space Cadet Joe Trigg tweeted, ‘Glad to see they don’t mime these group things any more.’ Not sure I am, Joe.
The Dark Lord Simon’s bulging coffers of money grew greater as Rebecca Ferguson, a previous X-Factor winner, appeared on stage in a rather revealing gold lamé body suit. I wondered whether Lady Barton St Mary would like one for Christmas, but after some subtle enquiries I got the snake eye.
Taylor Swift was the next turn, again singing live (I find it easy to discern live singing from mimed singing on X-Factor now. If they sound in tune, they’re miming. Unless it’s Cheryl Cole, who has trouble miming in tune.) The show was slowly turning into a rather awkward 6th form review.
So, to the ‘public vote,’ or, as it should be known, how many times has 13 year old Sharon from Brentwood pushed the button on her parents’ phone to vote for Rylan.
It was down to District 3, who are becoming so alien to anything musical I’m renaming them District 9, or the phenomenon known as Shouty Fairy.
District 9 sang the Robin Hood movie theme that was at number 1 for 8 years in the 90s, which means anybody over the age of 20 hates it. They sounded just like Westlife, which means they were completely and utterly shit.
‘Stay With Me Baby,’ Shouty Fairy demanded. With a voice like hers, it would be churlish not to obey her. Let’s not get started on the size of her mouth. From the comments I’ve read on twitter, you can draw your own conclusions as to what goes on in the minds of twitter age men.
Yes, of course it went to deadlock. Yes, Shouty Fairy was the best singer by far. Which means that Sharon from Brentwood was left to decide. Bye Bye, Melanie. Back to the child care.
Until next week.
Epilogue: I have to get this off my chest. No doubt most of you have seen the current John Lewis advert, the one where the man from 2012 dates a girl from 1922. It’s a very romantic boy meets girl falls in love/out of love/in love story with a happy ending, but I always feel a bit freaked out. The underlying repercussions to this romance is that a 25 year old man is eventually going to do it with a woman who must be at least 108 years old, possibly his great(great) grandmother. Is this the sort of behaviour John Lewis wishes to condone? Or is it just me?
The only answer I’ve had so far is from Lady Barton St Mary. It’s me.