Well do up my top button, cut off the blood supply to my head and call me a boy. X Factor.
It’s judges’ houses week – or houses that judges are pretending are theirs – the first batch of prospective Cowell slaves belong to Sharon, who ships them all over to Los Angeles in business class. When do they tell them that the rejects come back on a freight ship?
They’re the over 25s. Not the over 25‘s, there is no apostrophe in 25s, it’s plural, not ’25 is’ or ‘belonging to 25’, when will people learn! I’m not obsessed with apostrophes. Honest. I’m not. Well, a little.
Included in the group were Shelley and Joseph. In California. They seemed to have suddenly forgotten they had small children. Who was looking after them?
Sharon built up the excitement over the special judge. Let’s think. An international star, she tells us. A renowned singer and writer of songs. Let me think. L.A. – Sharon’s house. Top legendary star. Yes! It’s got to be Ozzy, Ozzy, Ozzy Oz… it’s not. It’s the daft old friendly muppet and luckiest man alive, Robbie Williams. Again. Good grief. It’s like having Gok Wan judging a cage fight.
So they all came out ‘singing’ and Sharon doubted any of them were any good at all. This was interspersed with an attempt to make their performances seem like the most dramatic and tense experience of their lives, or, as Lady BSM calls it, “all the old bollocks.”
They all performed. Andrea played the flute and impersonated a dog whistle. Joseph is the new Christopher Malone. They’re all shit. Robbie and Sharon sat dangerously near to a fire pit to make their decision. It was a miracle how Robbie’s hair didn’t flare up like a firework or that Sharon’s face didn’t melt due to the heat.
Next up, Louis’ boys in St Tropez in his house. Except as usual, Louis didn’t quite get it and put them on a boat before someone whispered in his ear. Louis had a Westlife bloke as a judge. Shiny Filling or summat.Somebody must have whispered in his ear to tell him he needed a musical judge, so he introduced somebody who married somebody who had a brother who is a musician, namely Canadian All Saint Nicole Appleby. I mean Appleton. Not Gallagher. So, in desperation, Louis introduced a third guest judge. Sinitta, who’d been taken by surprise and didn’t have time to dress, appearing in her best M&S pants and bra. Notice how she pulls them up Cowell style? After that, he gave up. So a trio of judges, who could be known as No Help, Next to No Help and Needs Help.
More dire singing.
“It’s not just a competition,” said Ryan. Yeah, it is.
Same old stuff, except … Paul. Worried about his weight. Top singer.
Giles said he’d waited his whole life to be on the show. He’s so young, I’ve waited longer on an automated phone call.
So, who did Sharon choose?
Sam, the singing screw; Lorna, who often has a hairstyle that makes her look like an exclamation mark and … Justine Lee Collins herself, Shelley, the West Country Wonder!
Dog whistling Andrea, small girl Zoe and the super wimp Joseph got the boot, but expect him back to irritate us in the ‘wild card’ slot.
As expected, lots of young boys.
Sam, the erm… young boy.
Nicholas, doing his best Jimmy Krankie impression. When he was chosen, I was expecting him to shout Fandabbidozi!
Luke, the Sideshow Bob tribute. He promised to wash his hair in the sea. Thankfully, Greenpeace arrived just in time before he caused a huge oil slick off the coast of Southern France.
Ryan, the bin juice man, ee were owt.
Similarly Giles, the Asos wearing embryo.
Finally, Paul, the best singer, but not the best body, so out he goes.
The successful acts were filmed celebrating with their families. Similarly, in true sadistic Cowell Death Star tradition, the losers were also made to stand in front of all their close friends and family that they failed miserably, they let us down, their families down, etc.
In true viewer tradition, I’m sure you were all waiting for the first best friend/relative to step forward, shout “Useless twat, where’s my ****ing pension scheme now?” and punch them in the face. Which is just what Giles’ dad did. In my head.
One observation before I leave you all. It was Shelley’s comment just before the good news.
“I don’t want to go back to driving my van,” she cooed in her best Bristolian accent.
” I want to do this and give my girl the most amazing future.”
Which is an admirable aspiration, I suppose.
Except I don’t think it was making music that would be the reason for an amazing future, rather what Darth Cowell has a lot of to make his an amazing present.
Until next time. Hope all my apostrophe’s are correctly placed.