Well, put a chain around my neck and call me the Mayor of Middlesborough. X-Factor.
The start of the show made the whole of the past 4 months of my life flash before me. All those wasted hours watching this dross. But, like a marathon runner approaching the finish line, I have to finish this. Even if I’m a marathon runner in agony, covered in sweat with poop running down my leg.
DERMOT DANCING! A WHOLE DERMOT FEATURE! YES! If only it could all stop with this.
“I love Dermot,” I blurted for the second time this series.
The Cowell Death Star has decided to hold the final in Manchester. For goodness’ sake, what with the dreadful weather, the economic decline, unemployment and the erosion of the manufacturing industry in the North West, haven’t they suffered enough?
All the X Factor rejects returned for one last wail up – contestants that I’d already forgotten, like Shouty Fairy, Jade Singlemum and the MILF.
The Singing Android was the first finalist to perform, now being described by Nicole as a lamb shank. I take it Nicole is unaware of cockney rhyming slang. You could almost hear Londoners everywhere spitting out their tea. He returned to Swindon, where Nicole went shopping in ASDA again.
“I don’t think they’re very sensible shopping shoes,” commented Lady Barton St Mary, always the voice of reason. This was followed by a trip to his church, where Nicole was forced to wear purple and shout at lots of God botherers.
This prepared the old lamb shank for his rendition of ‘Move On Up,’ a great choice of song for the audience, since it was easy to predict what notes Jahmene couldn’t reach without nearly shitting himself.
“You’re in de foinal!” claimed Louis, “You remoind me of a little Luther Vandros!”
Some footage from Swindon was followed by some compliments from a man known as Pasta Tim, though I was losing interest at this point.
Darth Cowell had rounded up the inhabitants of what looked like Liverpool’s version of Middle Earth, given them painted placards and forced them to pretend to be fans of Christopher Maloney.
“Ccchristpher’s as good as dat Nat Cccking Cole,” said one thickly accented Liverpudlian hobbit. Barlow had also been compelled to visit the Nanny Fairy’s Nanna in her home.
“Mmm, proper food,” he mused, surveying the dazzling array of sausage rolls, crisps, chocolate eclairs and biscuits from Iceland.The shop, not the country. Yes, proper food that the multimillionaire pop star, with a stylist and personal trainer, hasn’t put in his mouth for a very long time.
Nanny Fairy burst into his rendition of ‘What a Feeling,’ a song that is used to promote the antacid Gaviscon. Though old Maloney’s version could certainly give you heartburn.
“You’re in de foinal!” Louis exclaimed, “Which means you’ll never have to go back to that shithole!” he nearly said, before being chastised by the wonderful Dermot, the voice of sanity.
Back to Middle Earth with Nanny Fairy’s neighbour.
“Eeee’s another Tom Jones!” she cried this time, who is nothing like Nat King Cole, but there you go.
Professor Lidl went back to his version of Middle Earth, called Slapton on Sea, I think. Darth Cowell had employed a couple of grinning middle aged actors to play his parents and grudgingly allowed some parole to his siblings who are still inmates at The Darth Cowell Home for X-Factor Relatives. Mr Arfur took Nicole back to the pub he performed in before showing her around his one roomed flat. Between James and Jahmene, Nicole has been happy to visit Asda, a church, a spit and sawdust pub before being taken back to a bedsit. If only one had known how easy it is to please her. I’m sure Lewis Hamilton is lining up a trip to Aldi followed by a long weekend at Butlins on her return home.
His rendition of ‘It’s a New Life’ was his best performance yet. Gary said so.
“You’re in de Foinal!” realised Louis, which was followed by a rather garbled, neo-nazi style rant from Tulisa. Then it was time for Caroline Flack to shout at some Professor Lidl fans back in North East Middle Earth. Nobody compared him to Tom Jones, however.
Kelly Clarkson, latterly a Cowell slave from across the water, sang a song whilst a screen in the background showed all the crimes against music that have been committed during the autumn and winter months.
Then it was time for the ‘duets,’ where the mentors joined the turns on stage for a stunning extravaganza of musical talent. Who am I kidding. This really was the bland leading the bland.
Jahmene and Nicole cavorted around the stage singing ‘The Greatest Love of All,’ originally sung by George Benson but more commonly regarded as a big hit for Whitney Houston. Ouch. If the poor lady hadn’t already succumbed to alcohol and drug abuse, this performance would surely have made her consider ending it all toothless and drunk in a California bath tub. The music gods did their best to stop it by turning off Nicole’s microphone, but they ploughed on gamely. Later on in the evening, the high waist banded one arranged the execution of 3 sound technicians.
Nanny Fairy was in a generous mood, presenting Mr Borelow with … an empty picture frame. The grizzly faced one looked bemused.
“It’sferyerrrrOBEyeno,” explained Shaking Scouser.
“Oh great, I never thought of that,” the multimillionaire ‘pop star’ murmured, surveying the room for the nearest waste paper basket.
Gary and Nanny Fairy did a fairly good job with ‘Rule The World,’ an earworm of a song that takes ages to get out of your head. Like migraine.
Next scene, Professor Lidl and Nicole Scherzinger having a pint of beer in the pub. Sorry to go on about it, but do you really think that the Pussy Cat Doll would drink an entire pint of beer? It would double her body weight and mean she would consume her calorie entitlement for a week in one go.
‘You Make Me Feel Your Love,’ they crooned, Nicole in a skin tight black leather dress with matching thigh length boots. I would imagine that a large number of male fans were certainly feeling their love. Or preparing themselves for a lamb shank, perhaps.
That was it. Now – decision time! Not quite.
The little blonde girl with a name that sounds like an orange drink sang her song from a Manchester car park, where anti-Maloney protesters had set a car alight.
That was it, now decision time. Not quite.
First, Kylie. Lovely Kylie, a beautiful friendly person who everybody loves. The only problem is, on Planet Cowell, Kylie is regarded as a serious musical icon, when in fact she’s a former soap opera actress who sings cheesey pop songs. In this case, too slowly. If you have fast forward on your digital recorder, try it. It’s much better.
At one point, several serious looking men strode purposefully towards the stage; at last, they were coming to drag her away! No. They were her dancers. Lovely Dermot towered over the pocket princess whilst she flogged her latest album/clothes/perfume/motor insurance/funeral plan before skipping off to count her money.
The two hours were nearly up. I felt like I’d eaten a huge bag of sickly sweets with no substance, lots of colour, and very little nutritional value. I was right. Lady Barton St Mary had opened a tin of Quality Street and I’d eaten loads of them.
That was it. Now decision time.
Cowell’s dark forces had lumbered into action across the country. Herds of marauding scousers were dragged from their homes and locked in dungeons without telecommunication devices to prevent them voting for Christopher, the contestant who, it has been reported, consistently gained more votes than all the others put together, week in and week out. If this were to continue, Nanny Fairy would be victorious. The Cowell Death Star would be so severely damaged it would implode in upon itself, accompanied by a terrible sound (Olly Murs’ latest single). The victorious armies of Strictly fans would victoriously dance around Darth Cowell’s bleeding, mortally wounded carcass.
And so it came to pass that The Singing Android and Professor Lidl will fight it out to become the act that has one single before disappearing into obscurity. Who knows, Jahmene might even get to mark down his (or James’s) CD in Asda.
Not that it’s a fix, of course.
Until the next and very last time.