Christmas Eve at Crusty Hall - Mischief, Laughter and Visitors.

It was Christmas Eve morning and as one walked down the Grand Staircase for breakfast, one could hear sniggering coming from the reception room to the right of the main door. One’s curiosity was ignited and one sashayed to the room to investigate.

Opening the door carefully until one could see one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, with his head hidden behind the luxurious gold-braded, red velvet curtains, and his shoulders jerking up and down with every snigger.

“Chu Me, dear, you sound like Muttley! What on earth is tickling your fancy so?” One asked.

He withdrew his head from behind its thick velvet wrap and, with tears cascading down his little face, beckoned one to the window. He slid his head back into its velvety hiding place and one took up position to his side. Peering out of the window, it all became clear.

The vicar’s wife, Marjorie Flecks, had decided to pay one an unexpected visit (No doubt trying to lure a Christmas Lunch invitation … but the Dame was not for luring). She was desperately attempting to make her way up the footpath from the main gates. The thick, untreated ice was making her trek treacherous and it was this that was pushing Chu Me past the point of hysterics.

Dressed in yet another floral ensemble, accessorised with a grey duffle coat and navy blue moon boots, she was devoting complete concentration to each step she made. Often her arms flung themselves outward and flapped like chicken wings as she attempted to maintain balance on the glistening surface.

Five minutes had passed and, by this time, Chu Me’s sniggers were becoming infectious and Crusty too began tittering at the morning’s unexpected entertainment.

Halfway to the house she must have made contact with a particularly slipper patch; it was as though Mother Nature’s children had grabbed the DVD remote control of life and were alternately pressing fast forward and rewind, just to annoy their matriarch. Marjorie’s right moon boot hit the surface but she clearly realised balance was to be lost and immediate action was required. She brought her left boot forward but sadly at that point the right one shot back. Within a matter of seconds she was sprinting faster than Hussain Bolt, yet not actually moving from her current location.

She slowly managed to regain her composure then, almost at the point of rest, the rewind button was pressed and she began flapping her arms and sprinting backwards … then forward … then backward. The speed of her movement was so fast, she took on the appearance of a large, rather plumb, floral butterfly hovering above one’s grounds highlighted by the wonderful winter sun.

Finally, close to exhaustion and clouds of breath bellowing out of her mouth and nostrils like a stoked up steam train, she crashed to the ground. Chu Me and I were screaming with laughter.

She managed to position herself on all fours and like a plump panther padding its way towards it pray, she managed to reach an altogether more agreeable surface and raised herself, gingerly, to her feet.

Eventually, she reached the safety of the gritted steps in front of one’s residence and staggered to the main door. Her exhaustion could be heard clearly through the window as she pushed the button to ring the bell. One looked at Chu Me and we both had pools of mischief rippling in our eyes. We pressed ourselves against the ornately papered walls, like spies on a delicate mission, so we were completely out of sight.

The bell rang again … and again … finally a five second blast filled with fury and frustration. One could hear Marjorie clearly but it would be unwise to print her words here; let us just say that sort of language is not what one expects to hear from a vicar’s wife.

After five minutes of waiting she turned, defeated, and prepared for her journey back to the gates, though one felt it would be infinitely simpler as it was all down hill. If she was unfortunate enough to fall and duffle coat friction proved less than adequate, one was quite sure she would at least toboggan towards the gates relatively quickly.

As one took up one’s viewing position once more, with Chu Me at one’s side, Marjorie managed fifty yards from the Hall when, coincidentally, this is exactly what happened. As the screams dissipated and she shot off into the distance, we wiped the tears of laughter from our eyes until we saw Marjorie’s head disappear down to incline near the gates. At that very moment one saw the grill of Wing Commander Bertie of Chipmunk Squadron’s Bristol Brigand appearing.

“Chu Me!” One said, clapping one’s palms twice, “We must welcome the Wing Commander.”

Hearing the powerful engine of the Bristol coming up the drive took one’s mind back to happy days; days when one would spend delightful summer weekends with Bertie and his late wife, Agnes at their delightful country cottage. The Bristol Brigand was the only thing he had left – apart from his memories – of his childhood sweetheart.

Agnes was a strong woman who had a passion for these luxury motorcars and had managed to acquire two of them. One recalls those sun-soaked summer weekends when one would be lying on their sun terrace with a gin and tonic and the weeks glossies - allowing Señor Sol to kiss one’s exposed epidermis – while the Wing Commander would sit on the lawn, in his Air Force budgie-smugglers, lubricating his prop shaft and Agnes would be perspiring like a racehorse, between the open garage doors, lovingly polishing her Bristols. Halcyon days indeed, poppets ... halcyon days indeed.

Anyhoo … he was the only visitor for Christmas to travel any great distance, so Chu Me escorted him to the Warr Room. This is a bedroom inspired by one’s special poppet Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr. It is full of delicious soft furnishings, immaculately crafted furniture, a breathtaking view of one’s enchanted garden and cushions embroidered with one's poppets dreamy face. It is altogether warm and welcoming; perfect for the Wing Commander’s short stay.

It suddenly dawned on one Christmas had arrived. One was as excited as one was when one was but a little Damelette

The Big Flop - 17th Century Meets 21st Century.

One has been interested in the new, revamped series of Time Team, which appears to have move to the wonderful BBC.

While out on one of his field expeditions, it appears Tony Robinson – he who is famous for Black Adder and …. Black Adder – has been fortunate enough to dig up the scripts of a series of comedy plays from the 17th century. He has then managed to entice an array of television celebrities and Amanda Holden to take part in their re-enactment.

The series of plays, entitled The Big Top, has been commissioned by the BBC and is shown on Wednesday evenings.

Though it is an insight into our history and would have certainly entertained a nation that had nothing better to do than to watch weeping sores and the local witch being burnt alive, one feels the comedy does not cross over well into the 21st century. It is certainly not assisted by its ‘sexing up’, with Miss Holden sporting black hotpants, sheer hosiery and hair like C. S. Lewis’s Aslan with nits.

Furthermore, one appreciates that in comedy a straight man is important, however Robinson’s attempts to carry the weekly pieces as the character Anusmist, or some such fancy, does not succeed. One has never seen such a total lack of effort by an actor since that of Dexter Fletcher in Hotel Babylon.

Thankfully the performances have not been filmed in front of a live audience otherwise one suspects the description ‘live’ would be redundant and plenty more digging would be required by the archaeological team… along with mourning and multiple burials.

It is unclear how many of the plays were discovered but let us keep our digits crossed it was few rather than many.

Had it been a recent comedy offering it would most certainly have been entitled The Big Flop rather than The Big Top, but clearly as a historic piece it is acceptable as an example as to how much we have evolved over the centuries.

A Christmas Poem From Crusty

All that I remember
From that freezing Christmas Eve,
Was standing at the window,
In a dressing gown, I believe.
As I released the tied back curtains
And closed the vertical blind,
There was only one important question
Running through my mind.
Is there really such a person
As the legend, Santa Claus?
Does he really come down chimneys?
… Does he never use the doors?
Then suddenly, there came a crash and
I was knocked towards the floor,
I didn’t know what on earth it was
But I really was quite sore.
I sat there limp and slightly dazed
Propped against the bedroom wall,
When my hand fell down between my legs
On something round and small;
I tried to focus, with concussed eyes,
On where my hand had led
But I couldn’t make out what was stuck down there
…it was certainly glowing red.
Then suddenly, up my inner thigh
I felt something hard and furry.
Moving up towards my underwear
…Though not in any hurry.
I grabbed the mystery object
Before it reached my lady-garden
And mustered up the vocal strength
To shout, “I BEG YOUR PARDON!”
All my concentration,
It’s literally what it took,
To raise the object higher
So I could take a closer look.
I blinked my eyes, looked straight ahead
Consumed with dread and fear
But was rather shocked, yet quite surprised
To see a red-nosed, bruised reindeer.
Two huge hands, with sparkling nails,
Pulled the reindeer back, quite slow,
And throughout my destroyed bedroom
Echoed a thunderous, ”Ho! Ho! Ho!”
It was then that I finally realised
That what had happened was quite amazing;
Santa hadn't used a chimney …a door
He’d crashed through my double-glazing!!

Winter Arrives At Crusty Hall.

This morning, one was descending elegantly down the grand staircase at Crusty Hall, in a rather stunning Versace gown. At the bottom of the staircase stood one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me.

He had a look of excitement on his face and looked as if he was about to burst as he made small jumping motions, while rapidly clenching his little clenched hands.

“Hail, mistress!” He shouted.

As one passed him, one patted him gently on the top of his head, “Goodness, Chu Me, your practically family, dear … a simple good morning would have sufficed.”

A puzzled expression locked on his gorgeous little face.

One continued down the vast main corridor towards the Breakfast Room, but as one passed by the Drawing Room, Chu Me stopped one in one’s tracks. He beckoned one’s gaze towards the door, then gripping his hand around the glistening knob in front of him and began to push forward.

It was then that one saw the bleaching tumblage of tiny hail stones ricocheting off the giant window with a frantic wintry rhythm (as if entertainment legend Bruce Forsythe were tap dancing away on a sheet of black ice).

Winter is officially upon us, poppets!

One knows one heard a lady of weather predictions – and on the BBC, no less - warning us of a bitterly cold and snowy winter but one dismissed such nonsense immediately.

We all remember the prediction earlier in the year - from the very same source, too - of the barbecue summer we could all expect, which turned out to be two hours on a Tuesday afternoon in July. Sadly one had been out so missed it, although even if one had got back in time, Chu Me had already put Mr Peppercorn’s sausage away.

Anyhoo … all indications suggest the BBC bad weather boffins are accurate with regard to the forthcoming Winter.

One prays all of one’s poppets and twitter-chums stay safe and warm as Mother Nature blasts her icy wind across Her Majesty’s realm.

Sarah Jessica Parker Avoids Fallout.

One was fingering one's mouse the other day, while waiting for my faithful houseboy, Chu Me, to light the fire in one's private office, when one came across an article on the glorious gossip-fest that is Closer Online.

It appears that Sarah Jessica Parker had a spot of bother at a recent red carpet affair (poppets will know Sarah from 'Sex in the City'. She's the one who has an air of Nosferatu about her but with hair and a better dental regime).

Wearing a fabulous hot pink jaquard-style mini dress, she arrived at the red carpet parade for Did you hear about the Morgans? in Leicester Square and, while standing next to the mouth-watering Hugh Grant, persisted in yanking down of her hem and hoisting up her busty plateau.

At one point, Hugh almost appeared to be holding up her dress, as his hand slid round her back toward her zip during a photo opportunity (Honestly! He's shameless!)

One is quite sure her dilemma could have easily been averted with a little forward planning, some magic tape and a pre-extravaganza exfoliation. Ladies know that, without a good scrub, rough skin can act like little kittens claws and drag fabric any which way it pleases.

Anyhoo ... a valuable lesson learnt by Miss Parker and, though her fashion fixation may occasionally suffer unexpectedly, Crusty believes she is fortunate, in that she will never know the pain of losing her looks.

X Factor (week 10) – Crusty Reflects On Events

One awoke on Monday morning quite exhausted after one’s outrageously childish screaming and dancing the night before when one’s little South Shields stud-muffin, Joe McElderry, took the crown of this years X Factor competition.

After a deep, deep sleep one managed to restore one’s composure to Dame-like status and sashayed down to the breakfast room to reflect on the previous night’s events.

One was sitting in the Drawing Room with one’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, and our two remaining hopefuls sang the songs they considered to be their favourite from the whole competition – Oily singing ‘Twist and Shout’ and Joe, ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ - plus their version of the (rather poo) song that had been given to them to release as a Christmas hit (not a sleigh bell in earshot! Outrageous!). Despite the song, the vocal emotion of young Joe's voice brought it's lyrics to life
.
While the nation waited for votes to be counted, we were pampered with a plethora of twinkling stars and heavenly bodies (one refers to the uber-licious George Michael, of course, for the latter).

First of the professional stars filling our stockings, were the foxy foursome, JLS and the gorgeous Alexander Burke singing a mutual medley of their biggest hits. It was wonderful to see the winner of last years contest and the runners up merging in perfect harmony. Indeed, one thinks the version should be released. It would most certainly sell, would it not?

Leona Lewis was wheeled out again – quite literally – on a raised platform to sing her version of the Oasis hit, ‘Stop Crying Your Heart Out’.

Quite an appalling choice of song, although it was refreshing that the normal military percussion wasn’t banging away behind her. It was really just an excuse for her to stand motionless and scream like a gold-gowned harpy, while a montage of X Factor video footage distracted us from behind.

Many loyal viewers of the wafer-thin Stephen Fry - and his quality BBC show, QI - will know that the most suicidal song in history is Billie Holliday’s ‘Gloomy Sunday’. After listening to listless Leona singing her depressing number, one feels Billie may have a little competition.

Anyhoo … One had hoped that George Michael would be returning to the stage for the last show, and one was overjoyed to see it happen (and didn’t he look as cute as a button?). A refreshing Christmas song and a stunning set of seasonal style.

As if that wasn’t enough and for the final surprise … Sir Paul McCartney.

One was delighted to see he had opted for appropriate footwear and not the trainers he usually wears with dress trousers and one was quite moved - on this Sir Terry Wogan’s last week on the Radio 2 Breakfast Show – that he opted to sport Sir Terry’s hairstyle, in homage, for his performance.

Our Liverpudlian legend of loveliness gave us two songs (although, in fairness, just under half of one would have sufficed).

Now, he’s always been a bit of a joker that one and, true to form, he kept the other band members on their toes by singing in a completely different key. After song number one, he sat at his multi-coloured piano.

‘Oh no,’ one thought, “Not ‘Hey Jude’!”

Even one’s pussy , Crotchet, had the same idea and left the room immediately – growling under his whiskers as he padded off - but then, as he hit the keys, one vaguely recognised the introduction from ‘Live and Let Die’ (Honesty, dear! One’s cleaner plays more melodically when she’s dusting the keys on the Grand, and she's got hands like a pit pony's hooves!)

Then the lines were closed. The nation had reached its decision. The lights went down and the camera fixed on Dermott.

“Remember, this is in no particular order. The winner of the X Factor 2009 is …”

One stood up and glided to the first floor lavatory, while Chu Me walked to the kitchen to make a pot of tea for himself and mix another gin and tonic for his mistress. After 5 minutes we were back and as we settled down, we took a sip from our respective receptacles …

“Joe!”

Well, it was worth the wait! Absolute madness ensued within the confines of Crusty Hall. One telephoned one’s dear friend Fanny O’Dour, down at the Badger’s Snatch and one could hardly hear a word she said, the screams coming from the villagers were deafening!

“Crusty!” She screamed, “Isn’t it wonderful news! You must be elated!”

“One is indeed, Fanny; one is indeed.”

It shall be a night one shall always remember. A magical moment, in a most magnificent mould.

X Factor Winner 2009 - Sir Joe McElderry

Ladies, Gentlemen, Crustettes and Poppets!!!!!! Crusty has pleasure in announcing that her South Shields stud-muffin has WON the X Factor.

Congratulations, poppet! mwah mwah

X-Factor (week 10) – The Final part 1.

It was a quiet affair for the X Factor extravaganza at Crusty Hall this week. It was all becoming just too exciting and one did not want to appear in a public state of distress if one’s little South Shields stud-muffin was unsuccessful on his journey to super-stardom. As a result, one give all household staff the night off and Chu Me and I sat in the Drawing Room with a small, flavourful array of nibbles and a sufficient supply of gin, tonic and Pere Ventura Cava to last the evening.

The show began and deliriously delicious Dermott took to the stage to set the ball rolling. The judges were introduced.

The boys were smoothly dressed, as they have been most weeks.

Dannniiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) appeared from the back doors like a Roman empress in her flowing dark coloured toga, with her complementary potato waffle earrings and tatty hair.

Cheryl y’-nailed-it Cole scuttled out in an apparent mermaid’s costume, made from the skin of very large silver fish. The poor creature had obviously been caught very recently as it still appeared to have an array of little, black, parasitic tiddlers attached along its length; the majority of them had settled around the bustal expanse (they are unlikely to find much to feed on there, one fears).

Eventually, the final was underway and - as we learned later in the show - this evening, we were going to have the pleasure of three songs from our popstar hopefuls.

First on stage was the lovely Dolly Dagenham. Her first choice of song was one of Crusty’s all time favourites, ‘What a Wonderful World’. One has always thought no one could match the great Louis Armstrong, but one must say one adored the version she gave the viewing public.

Next up, Oily Mares. During the video clip before the performance, we saw Oily going back to his hometown with Simon. They decadently travelled in a big, black chopper. One watched with playful glee as the aircraft tilted to the side for a turn. One smiled at the unlikely event of Oily releasing his mentor’s safety belt and pushing him out of the door (purely for entertainment purposes, you understand!).

His song of choice was the Stevie Wonder classic, ‘Superstition’. A pleasant enough performance and he certainly had a lucky escape at the start of his song when he nearly crashed to the floor as he slipped during his strutting (One thinks a little more oil next time, Chu Me).

Then, one’s heart began pounding underneath one’s bosom as Chu Me poured an ice cold gin and tonic. There could be only one more contestant and indeed, Joe McElderry was next.

One’s little poppet, returned home to our breathtaking region, unfortunately bringing Cheryl back with him. However, this didn’t have an adverse affect and the welcome he received from the waiting crowds was overwhelming. One must admit, even Crusty had tears in her eyes as his grandmother told him how proud she was of him. Even Cheryl was close to tears as she stood in the McElderry kitchen (admittedly one was quite impressed to see her progression from a can and straw to being able to drink from a glass … the only way is up now, dear!)

The lighting was perfect and a dreamy dribble of dry ice rippled over the stage as he chose to sing another of Crusty’s all time favourites; this time from the colossal catalogue of the late, great Luther Vandross, ‘Dance With My Father Again’. An absolutely sublime performance; a mixture of maturity, emotion and crystal clear vocals. ¡Bravísimo cariño!

One was quite undone and feeling very limp by this stage, after such a trilogy of performances, however several olives and a couple of blinis with smoked salmon, sour cream and chives later and one found the strength to continue.

Part two arrived and Cheryl’s aquatic apparel clearly still had a yearning to be near water. As the delicious Dermott got the show underway, she scuttled back to her chair having satisfied her garments need to dangle it’s scaly fins over the water in the toilet bowl.

The order of performance was to be maintained throughout, so first to perform with the secret list of singing superstars (that had already been revealed in the week’s press) was Dolly. With an incredible back drop of throbbing bulbs she began the Nina Simone classic, ‘I’m Feeling Good’. Her performance was quite wonderful and when joined in the middle of the song by the gorgeous Michael Bublé, the end of the song built to a wonderful crescendo and the song was simply electric.

Next, Oily Mares. One must confess he did look rather nice in his dark suit and his turkey legs were certainly concealed by well cut fabric. A happy go lucky performance of that irritating Robbie Williams song, ‘Angels’, with the relaunching superstar in duet mode along side him. Despite having sung the song 9223 times and once in the bath, he managed to miss his cue for entry, but when he corrected himself a adequate karaoke-esque performance was provided (similar to two half-cut friends on a night out on the town and having a bit of a laugh to impress the laydeeeeeez).

One’s stunning little poppet, Joe, was centre stage next and his glorious version of ‘Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me’. A lava-licious background on the screens and the golden glow of the lighting only highlighted him as the ingot of precious matter he truly is. Half way through, and time for his superstar introduction … the legend that is George Michael (One squealed at his iconic magnificence). It was as if Crusty was watching a pornographic film without the sex; two delicious specimens of manhood performing in the most thrilling way and almost making one reach for a cigarette afterwards. An utterly fabulous performance!

At this point, one felt one could not take anymore. Chu Me was having to fan one briskly while replenishing one’s beverages and nibbles at the same time (A marvel at multitasking, is he not?). As one began to cool down during the commercial break, part three arrived. Could one take any more?

Stacey appeared at the back of the stage in a short bejewel outfit with short skirt and flared out train. Looking absolutely enchanting, she belted out her Queen homage, ‘Who Wants To Live Forever’. The power from her lungs was such that the resulting blast of air almost caused Dannniiiiii and Simon’s foreheads to wrinkle.

Oily repeated his Tina Turner inspired ‘Fool In Love’. Certainly better than his previous performance, though his vocals at the start were a little shaky. His now seemingly personal dance troupe – the Oily Rags – helped give a tassle-tastic last performance.

After the shaking of an Oily tail-feather, things were brought down to end on a stunning ballad sung by juicy Joe McElderry; ‘Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word’. It was an outstanding vocal interpretation, again packed with emotion and soul, so rare in one so young and gorgeous. Three songs delivered with utter perfection.

As the nation reached for the telephone, it was time for a ‘musical’ interlude with the return to stage of Robbie Williams (This time, starting on cue). Then it was results time!

Who was going to be the person to be taken from the competition on this thrilling night?

First through … Oily Mares. One’s heart was pounding as one grasped the well filled drawers of the bow-legged tall boy for support. Then … tick, tick, tick ... Joe!!!! (Good show!!!).

As we said goodbye to the lovely Stacey, Chu Me and I raised a glass of Pere Ventura Cava and toasted her fabulousness. One thinks Dermott said it best, “You’re a proper lady, Stacey!”

She most certainly is, dear! The question is, however, who will be our X Factor King on Sunday night?

Strictly Arlene v Alesha?

Former judge of that rather energetic hit BBC show Strictly Come Dancing, Arlene Philips has spoken out about her sacking from the show.

One always used to like to watching dear Arlene, as she judged the weekly performances from the participating celebrities.

Though she often spoke in riddles and her hair appeared to have been deployed in hedge-warfare, there was always something soothing about having her amongst the panel; similar to dancing as a child at a family gathering and granny spurring one on with her kind words, while slipping a quick shot from the hip flask stashed in the Louis Vuitton handbag under the table.

Anyhoo … on the decision and in an interview with Glamour, Arlene said once the producer gave it to her, she “couldn’t take it in.”

She thought she was good at what she did but then felt shocked to find out she was not.

It is true that Alesha may be aesthetically delicious, where as Arlene is not, but one must say a more mature outlook is required for such an important show and especially when it is to raise money for charity.

Furthermore, it is quite distracting the non-graspulization that Alesha has over when to use the words "was" and "were"; one minute sounding like a Street-wise teenager - "You was fantastic", "They was perfect steps" – and the next like a Somerset sheep farmer - “I were a dancer like you”.

She may be able to dance a light fandango but she is clearly unable to string a grammatical sentence together.

One thinks the probationary period is now over. We’ve had the addition of the fabulous Darcy Bussell and now one feels the party’s over for Ms Dixon and that Arlene must take her rightful place amongst the ‘men’ and Len again.

Oh yes, Alesha has had experience auditioning dancers for rather irritatiing videos for her music, however, that does not compare - in the slightest - to the work and experience that dear, sweet Arlene has acquired and provided over her many, many, many, many years.

BBC? Please re-think and return our queen to her rightful throne

X Factor (week 9) – Crusty Enjoys a Thrilling Semi

The excitement was building within the walls of Crusty Hall. Week 9 (I know it feels infinitely longer than that) of the X Factor competition had reached the Semi-finals. The remaining pop star hopefuls were now to face each other in the musical, gladiatorial arena to win a place in the final.

This week the contestants, again, had to tackle two songs; one from the vast catalogue of the late, great Michael Jackson and the other a song selected by their mentors; a song chosen to woo the public and propel their protégés into next weeks final.

One’s Ballroom was opened - as is now customary – and Chef had prepared a huge array of nourishing nibbles for us all to enjoy. The owners of the village pub, The Badger’s Snatch, were attending; Fanny and Willy O’Dour. In addition, we also had Mr & Mrs Tickles - the owners of the village florist and garden centre, accompanied by their daughter, Tess. It was going to be quite the party!

8pm arrived and the show was underway. Dreamy Dermott appeared from the giant opening at the back of the stage and the audience went wild. He strutted to the side, stood on his mark and introduced the panel of judges.

The gentlemen – Louise and Simon – were well turned out with suit and ties. Danniiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) was swathed in a rather pleasant flowing number. Indeed, the ensemble was 85% acceptable save the rather ugly pair of dreamcatchers hanging from her aural lobes.

One read in the newspapers last week, that Dannniiii had said she was ready to leave the show to start a family with her hunkalicious beau. Normally this would have worried Crusty greatly. Why, only as recent as last year – with the alleged plastic surgery and bollocks in her face …sorry, Botox (thank you, Chu Me) – one always wondered how a nurse delivering the baby would cope with having to look up from her stressed and bloody lady-garden to say, “Congratulations, Miss Minogue, you have a lovely Barbie doll!”

Now that the Bo …tox seems to have diminished, one is happier now that something altogether more human would be blessed upon the glamorous couple, should they decide to breed.

Cheryl y’nailed-it Cole had clearly suffered a crisis back stage with the little black number she had chosen for the show. Now, one is unsure whether stains were involved or just a receding hem line that would run the risk of prime time foof exposure, but Wardrobe were resourceful enough to find a mother and baby out back and managed to whip away it’s soft, pink blanket … wrap it around Cheryl’s waist and use the safety pin to finish the innovative creation behind the left shoulder. An absolutely awful look but resourcefulness must always be applauded.

Delicious Dermott passed to Simon who gushed his thanks to Janet Jackson, who was to perform on the results show and added, “We’re gonna do our best to pay tribute to Michael Jackson tonight.” (one realised it was wise, at that point, not to expect too much).

First to the stage was Oily Mares. The song choice was ‘Can You Feel It’ and we certainly could. As the music started and the men folk were munching into Chef’s melon balls, Fanny and Mrs. Tickles took to the floor and were consumed by the beat.

Crusty, however, was slightly confused – momentarily - when one thought one was watching a video of the village sanatorium’s Christmas party last year. One was convinced it was the institution’s head nurse, Kera Lott, in her white uniform and matching white pumps, dancing on the podium surrounded by her patients. It was then that one looked closed and realised that it was, in fact, Oily. Oh, how one’s guests and I chuckled!

Anyhoo … a quite pleasing performance was given and Fanny was certainly panting bloodhound after enthusiastically shaking her tail feather. The judges comments were good and, of course, Danniiii had to notice him grabbing “his package” (the mucky mare!)

One headed over to the exquisite presentation of nibbles, eager to cut a slice out of Chef’s prawn ring. Just as one picked up the utensil to scoop out a chunk of his delicious crustacean circle , one heard a heavenly chorus emanating from one’s Bang & Olufsen surround sound. It meant only one thing … South Shields stud-muffin Joe McElderry was about to take to the stage.

As he sat at the back of the set to begin his song – ‘She’s Out Of My Life’ - everybody in the ballroom let out a sigh at the sound of his awesome vocals. Immediately, one grabbed Fanny and Chu Me’s dear Tess Tickles and the three of us swayed along with the rhythm of the music. One was so caught up in the emotion of the song, that one deeply wished to find the ‘she’ that had walked away from our poppet and upset him. One would have liked nothing better than to have Chu Me hold her while one slapped her dish.

When he finished, there was rapturous applause and Dickie Tickles declared, “That one’s certainly got the X Factor!” (one could not have agreed more as one wiped a tear of joy from ones cheek!)

After the other judges had given their glowing verdict, Cheryl announced she was speechless … yet her jabbering on, certainly seemed to prove the opposite.

Dolly Dagenham scorched the stage surface next. Her sexy, yet simple outfit, made her appear absolutely stunning and … Goodness me! … Her legs! They went all the way up to the brim of her hat! One did feel that at her key change - towards the end - she did falter slightly but one supposes it was inevitable after Yoda Freidman had her walking across a carousel of dining chairs. We were, however, all agreed that it wasn’t a song to showcase her gorgeous voice even though she sang it very well.

Last on for the Micheal Jackson homage was Danyl Johnson (he who has a penchant for man-biscuit as well as lady-trifle). Poured into a pair of leather pantaloons he sang ‘Man in the Mirror’ with gusto, though one was slightly distracted, not so much by the lonely Polar Bear behind him, more the burning bush and the large dried up crack that came later. How very biblical, one thought!

In the second section, the contestants continued in the same order and Oily took to the stage once more.

Simon had given him the Beatles number, ‘We Can Work It Out’, but with a slightly less catchy and somewhat underwhelming arrangement and, though one was growing more and more incensed by his, “..Life is very short, and there’s no ti-i-i-i-i-i-i-me” nonsense, one was filled with admiration for him as he continued through his performance while suffering some sort of fit, or seizure, across the stage. Bravísimo, dear!

Chu Me tried to convince us Oily was dancing, but we all laughed it off and such a silly suggestion was soon forgotten.

Once again the angelic choral harmonies filled the Ballroom and our South Shields stud-muffin was back. A song that Crusty had heard before but was not completely familiar with but OH … MY … GOD!!! As the sparkles cascaded behind him Fanny, Tess and I screamed and clapped our hands violently. As his crystal clear vocals oscillated around every millimeter of ones epidermis, one felt one was showering naked under a secret waterfall, hidden in the depths of the Amazon jungle. Quite stunning!

Poor Mrs Tickles was transfixed by his performance; so much so, she ended up dropping her crumbly muffin all over the parquet flooring.

The penultimate act was Dolly Dagenham. Stood centre stage in a fabulous frock and looking very Streisand-esque, her lungs blasted out all they could muster for ‘Somewhere’. As the last notes bellowed out of the speakers, one is quite sure one was pushed back three inches by the very might of her diaphragm.

And finally, Danyl. This time singing the well known Whitney the Poo song from Bodyguard, ‘I Have Nothing’. A powerhouse performance, though one did feel he was a little flat at the beginning and only reached pitch once his lungs began to gather momentum and the more powerful lyrics arrived.

Ironically, by the end of the results show, and other than some happy memories, that was exactly what poor Danyl had …Nothing!

Crusty shall miss his smouldering gorgeousness and puppy-dog eyes, but the nation spoke and Crusty certainly feels the right choice was made. Should Danyl wish to escape to a place for some inner contemplation, Crusty Hall is at his disposal and one has asked Chu Me to leave a pair of small, black budgie-smugglers by the indoor pool, on standby.

Incidentally, note to Ms Jackson’s wardrobe department; what on earth were you thinking, dears! A raincoat and a pair of bunny slippers would have been more fetching than that … that …assemblage.

The woman’s an icon for goodness sake, not a lavatory attendant!

Confused By Confused.com

It was one of those mornings when one was at a loss as to what to do. More so, because of the wild, wintry weather that had descended on this beautiful region and one’s beloved Crusty Hall.

Chu Me had already rose from his slumbers very early to ensure the horses were warm in their stables; he had cracked the ice on the pond to allow the swans access, had fed one’s pussy, Crotchet, fed the chickens and put a small winter coat on his cock. Then, a quick wash of his hands and he even prepared me the most delicious fresh omelette from the morning’s plunder.

After breakfast, one took a little exercise and sashayed along the numerous hallways and corridors of one’s family home until one finally arrived at the top of the Grand Staircase.

Though it was subzero temperatures outside, there was a pleasing warmth that ascended one’s elegant frame as one took hold of the balustrade. Caused not only by the effective central heating but also by one’s two special poppets looking down at one from their picture frames; Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr and Colin his-twinkle-makes-you-tingle Briggs.


Chu Me had done a magnificent job of mounting them; a quick bang here, a quick bang there, and one’s special poppets were swinging weightily in front of one’s beaming face. One could not have been more pleased.

“They are both well hung indeed, Chu Me! Good show!” One acknowledged.

Below me, one notice Janet – one of the household staff – cleaning the floor, while listening to a program on the radio.

Janet came into one’s service from the village undertakers, Diggett & Buryham; It was quite clear she was not cut out for work in such a sensitive environment especially after … the “incident”.

She had wanted to give one of the floors a good clean but there was a gentleman ‘resting’ in the centre of the parlour in question. Small but strong, she lifted the coffin off its easel and stood it up in a stationery cupboard, out of the way. A fabulous job was done of the floor but by the time she had finished, she had completely forgotten about the item she had moved. Sufficed to say, later that same day, the receptionist’s screams could be heard for miles when she went to get a paperclip to remove a foreign body from her stapler and instead caught a frighteningly stiff one in her hands.

Anyhoo … as one was admiring the shine Janet was achieving on one's nic-nacs, an advertisement was broadcast for confused.com and one must say one was quite concerned at the intelligence of their target audience.

“Yeah, it was really easy,” said a young man, “I just put confused.com into the search engine … and it found it straight away!”

You could have found it even quicker if you’d just typed it into the address line, dear! (the clue is in the name!) …For goodness sake!

X Factor (Week 8) - Take That Elton John!

This week the long running saga of X Factor had a refreshing difference to the normal format. Week 8 was to challenge our popstar hopefuls by performing two songs each; one was from the successful catalogue of those talented towers of tottyness, Take That and a second song from the monumental list of hits of Her Serene Majesty (and Godmother to us all) Sir Elton John.

Chef had finished early and had raced out for a game of bingo in the back room of The Badger’s Snatch, so Chu Me took charge of nibbles for the evening and, One must say, he did us proud; a mouth-watering selection of dishes (inspired from his village in a land far, far away) were spread the full length of the large table set in the corner of the Ballroom. The screen on the giant Bang & Olufsen - hanging above the fireplace - had been cleaned beautifully and he had positioned seats, for both he and I, next to the back wall, leaving more than adequate floor space at one’s disposal should the contestants compel one to shake a tail feather or two.

The show began … and the delicious Dermott O’Leary took to the stage. The crowd erupted in frenzied screaming. He strutted to the side of the set and introduced the X Factor judges.

Simon and Louise, again, opted for black attire and maintained their dapper appearance.

Danniiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard’s sticking) was – though it chokes one to admit it – dressed in a rather elegant flowing number, and just as one thought she had finally cracked it, one noticed one minor problem. It appeared that while sitting in makeup, the applicator had put on the usual Alice band to lift her hair from her face but had completely forgotten to remove it before Dannnniiii took to the stage; so we can only guess what the intended hairstyle should have looked like?

Cheryl y’-nailed-it Cole stood alongside Danniiiiiiii in an explosion of gold and black … and, believe me poppets, when one says ‘explosion’, one quite literally means ‘explosion’.

It is rumoured that there is a rivalry between Cheryl and Victoria Beckham in the fashion stakes. However, where vivacious Victoria would adorn herself in magnificence and say, “I just got this from the latest Gucci collection”, one feels the example slung on by Cheryl would suggest, “I found this in a heap, like, under the 95% Off rail in Primark and, like, stuck a bow on it.” (Ever the resourceful one).

One was always led to believe the term W.A.G. was associated with being the wife or girlfriend of a famous footballer. Clearly, in Mrs Coles’ case it simply means Wears Attrocious Garments.

Anyhoo … Back to the competition and first to sing this week was puppy-eyed Danyl Johnson (He who has a penchant for the man-biscuit as well as the lady-trifle). His first song was the huge Take That hit ‘Relight My Fire’. A wonderful performance, save for the rather camp top. Nevertheless, Yoda Friedman did an adequate job of the dance routine and as the natural heat of Danyl’s smouldering features seeped out of ever inch of one’s equipment, one was convinced the antique wall panelling of the Ballroom was about to ignite. As an aside, he may not have thought anyone noticed, but one particularly liked his little Lulu in the middle.

Our Welsh heartthrob, Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels was second on stage and this week he was given ‘A Million Love Songs’. A fairly straight forward song to sing but sadly one feels the Greyhound bus to Pitchville suffered a puncture and never quite reached its destination (One feels that Lloyd’s time is drawing rapidly to a close).

The first of Simon’s flock was up next. Oily Mares, singing a simple ballad; ‘Love Ain’t Here Anymore’. An altogether wonderful performance with some lucky little nymphette in the front row being sung to directly by our waist-coated warbler. (One suspects a little seepage of excitement occurred).

As Cheryl revealed to us the next act, one jumped to one’s feet applauding rapidly and squealing with excitement. It was our South Shields stud-muffin, Joe McElderry. His first song was ‘Could It Be Magic’.

His performance was knicker-wettingly good and it would seem all four judges were equally as moist. Do you know, poppets, if Crusty was of adequate years, one is quite convinced one would like to bear his children. By the end of the performance one was on the cusp of hysterics. Thankfully, a member of kitchen staff entered with a replacement tray of nibbles. As one grabbed her by her apron and slapped her face, one managed to return to a state of calm.

Dolly Dagenham – was the last in the Take That line up, with her cover of ‘Rule the World’. Quite frankly, with a set of lungs like that, I dare say she could, poppets. She made the song her own and Chu Me, a rather bruised member of kitchen staff and I swayed in unison with flickering candles in our right hands.

A short break from the proceedings and it was time for the Sir Elton John songs (One bows in the shadow of his fabulousness).

Lloyd was first in this section and his rendition of ‘I’m Still Standing’. As we witnessed a glimpse of the dance training at Yoda’s School of Dance, Lloyd revealed a little something to the viewer; he was not looking forward to the climax of the routine because he was afraid of heights. What death defying feat was our little poppet going to attempt? Is it really worth risking life and limb for a talent show?

As one sat with one’s twinkling blue eyes fixed to the screen, the moment came. One gasped and clenched Chu Me’s wrist firmly …another gasp … and then ……oh! … he sat on the shoulders of a couple of dancers! … Hmmm! … hardly the same as abseiling Big Ben but, thankfully, he managed to finish the performance without a nosebleed.

The second song on Danyl’s playlist was ‘Your Song’. Now, normally one does like his performances but one found oneself humming along until one line in particular where one felt compelled to join in, ‘…and you can tell everybody, this ain’t your song; It may be quite simple but, you’re getting it wrong”. Enough said!

Oily Mares’ second piece was a butching up of ‘Saturday Night’s (Alright for Fighting)’, though one could still see an element of campness sneaking back in. Cheryl couldn’t believe that Oily had managed to concentrate ‘with all those beautiful, sexy girls around you’ (one suspects he used Cheryl as an antidote to help keep it real).

One’s Geordie Jewel was to perform next with ‘Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word’. AN ABSOLUTE TRIUMPH! As one started to shake with excitement, the bruised member of kitchen staff sensed danger and shot out into the main hall, Chu Me whipped his arms behind him and locked them in place. With no other options available, one ran to the doors, flung them open and screamed across one’s grounds.

Limp as ten day old asparagus from all the excitement, one couldn’t even concentrate on the lovely Stacey singing the ultimate song; ‘Something About The Way You Look Tonight’. She was, however, a powerhouse of vocal dreaminess.

The following night – Sunday – was results night. No interference from our judges (one wishes it could always be like that), just the public vote. The person with the least votes? …get your hat and coat, dear!

The special guests were introduced; Alicia Keys screeched like a mating vixen rummaging through overturned bins in a suburban alleyway and as for Rihanna … there was something about her performance that one simply adored… the chair that was revolving centre stage. Other than that, highly repetitive nonsense.

Needless to say, one’s mystical powers had proved themselves once more and poor Lloyd was no more. He was given the ceremonial clap and shown his video montage.

The end is in sight, poppets and one is looking forward to what is in store next week

Charity Begins At Home ... But A Foolproof Plan Is Needed.

One would never intentionally read the Daily Mail, especially since that rancid article typed by the stubby little claws of Jan Moir regarding the untimely death of Stephen Gately, which was then printed the day before his funeral.

For those of you unfamiliar with her, she’s a portly, manly-shouldered woman with broad facial features like a Bull Mastiff. She has worked for various newspapers and even spent time as a restaurant critic for the Telegraph (and judging from photographs she certainly visited many and enjoyed many an evening of fine dining).

Anyhoo … One had Chu Me take one down to the village to buy some delicious pastries from the village bakers. The owner of the establishment, Pat Tissery, makes the most delightful baked products. Every morning, when she whips out her crusty baps and puts them on display on the top shelf of her shop window, the men folk rush from ever corner of our hamlet to lay their hands on them while they are still fresh, hot and moist.

This particular morning, Chu Me had ensured we arrived before the stampede and Pat - having seen the Bentley pull up outside - opened the door and ushered us in to let us wait in the warmth of the shop while her buns were beginning to rise.

On the counter in front of one, was a copy of the aforementioned litter tray liner and - to pass the time - one flicked through the pages (keeping one’s gloves on, naturally).

At the top tight hand corner of page 5, one was shocked to see an article with the title, ‘Wogan’s near-miss on Children In Need’

The article announced how Sir Terence Wogan (he of the monumental mound in his moleskins) had narrowly missed serious injury, during the broadcast of the recent fundraiser, when a huge chain plummeted from the ceiling and landed very close to him on the stage.

Sir Terry told both Mail reporters, Sara Nathan and Paul Revoir (Hmmm, a combined effort to write around 200 words…fancy!), “It was a huge chain. I heard this enormous crash and I turned around and there was a pile of chain about a couple of feet away from me.”

Drat! ... Well, we are constantly being told to get involved and do something different for Children in Need. Next year, one will just have to think of something a little more foolproof or carry out the operation with one's faithful houseboy.

One had thought of cancelling one’s pledge and asking for the money back but the cause is a worthy one and they did raise almost £18million on the night.

Jedward To Skydive Into Bush?

One wonders if any poppets have been tuning into 'I Need Publicity ... Any Chance of Getting Me In There'.

How ironic it was that as one pair of unpleasant, overrated breasts left the jungle, rumours were abound of another pair of equally unpleasant, overrated breasts were going in.

One, of course, refers to Jedward/John & Edward/the Brothers Grime/Satan's offspring* (*- delete as appropriate) from this years X-Factor.

Crusty, however, can now confirm - after further investigations - that they will not be skydiving into the nations most famous bush, since Katie Price walked off the show earlier in the week (Chu Me! ... Cancel the drop of Funnel Webs).

You know poppets, one can hardly blame dear Katie for her decision; the voters were being quite beastly in constantly putting her through for the jungle challenges. Personally, one would have walked off as soon as one was passed a beaker of cockroach smoothie.

Really! There are certain things a lady should not be made to swallow and the next time one bumps into Ant and Dec, one is going to slap their legs.

The Anthropological Wonderment of Masterchef

Yum! You're next:"Keep him talking, I've got the ketchup

behind my back"

It has come to one’s attention over the past year, that the Masterchef competition has maintained its popularity and embedded itself securely into the nation’s stomach.

Though one preferred the contrived Englishness of Lloyd Grossman, one now has a relationship of tolerance with the current presenters, John Turd and Greg Wallace

It always mystifies one why - when speaking into the boom microphone or talking to each other during their consultation process - they have to shout so much. Particularly when engaged in the latter. It all seems rather redundant to send the sweaty contestants out into the waiting area for them to deliberate in secret, when even the chip shop on the corner of the street can hear every word, as it rumbles over the cobbles like thunder!

It has also came to one’s attention that despite His Divine Majesty Sir David Attenborough educating us that certain animals have the ability to dislocate their own jaws to consume food, one never knew there were humans that could perform the same feat.

When dear John and Gregg sample the contestants dishes, they too dislodge their jaw bones (and no doubt create a feeling of terror amongst the camera crew). One often wonders why they even bother with a fork, when a simple lifting of the plate, tilting back of the head and gravity would suffice.

This was demonstrated quite clearly in a recent heat on the UK Food channel. One rather talented contestant had made a plate of scrumptious food and utilized the spicing skills he had acquired in a top Indian restaurant. The restaurateur had advised him that you know when chilli is not cooked properly because you can feel it in the back of the throat.

Little did our competing poppet realise that both Mr. Turd and Mr Potato-head
were to feel just that! Mind you, this was hardly surprising, considering their taste buds didn’t have a fighting chance of sampling the finished dish. Instead, they could only look on in despondency as the shovel glided over them and dumped the fodder straight down the back of their screeches.

The poor dears mustn’t have eaten for a week!

Crusty's Tucker Trial ... Without The Bush.

Sitting with my pussy - Crotchet - fast asleep on one’s lap, one took a half-hearted look up and down the televisual menu, trying to find something that might take one’s interest.

One came across the channel called Fiver. As one examined the listed content, one agreed that if the channel was to be the only reason for paying the licence fee, then a fiver would be about all one would agree to pay.

Anyhoo … although it had already started one opted for the program ‘Everybody Hates Chris’.

One must say, poppets, that after watching only four and half minutes worth and enduring the excruciating whiny voice, one could quite easily see why.

X Factor (Week 7) - Joe McElderry Goes Supernova

With one's renewed interest in the X Factor competition, one was quite looking forward to this week’s musical mêlée. Fanny and Willy O’Dour had a night off from the Badger’s Snatch and one asked them if they would like to join Chu Me and I at Crusty Hall. They agreed.

One asked Chu Me to arrange for the Ballroom to be opened and prepared for our guests and he and chef prepared a mouth-watering selection.

Indeed, one’s mouth was drooling with anticipation at what was to come; tonight was George Michael night. When one was a young Damelette one always dreamt of sharing a cottage with the incredibly talented and handsome George … but sadly a Los Angeles police officer beat one to it and let’s be honest, a Dame of distinction is no match to a well equipped man with a handcuffs and an extending truncheon.

Anyhoo … As one’s guests and I gathered around the buffet table for some pre-competition nibbles, the delicious Dermott O’Leary took to the stage to get things underway. The doors at the rear of the stage opened and our four judges entered. Simon chose to keep his hairy cleavage and medallion covered and wore a tie; Louise gleamed as he faced the audience with a spotted dick lodged under his chin.

Danniiii wore a patchwork ensemble and Cheryl selected, what looked like, a crepe (although one is quite sure the word only has four letters … and there has never been an ‘e’ in it either) pink dress, a pair of shoes that Eliza Doolittle would have plied her trade in before meeting Professor ‘iggins and a headband resembling dear Mickey Mouse’s ears.

As we munched on our buckwheat blinis with smoked salmon and crème fraiche the contest began and first to sing to us this evening was Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels. His new hairstyle was beautifully crafted and it only helped accentuate his boyish good looks and, quite frankly, he looked lovely as he performed ‘Faith’.

One did get a shock at one point when the camera panned to Simon Cowell and he had his hand over his mouth as if he was going to vomit. Then, of course, one realised that the stage was highly polished and he had clearly caught his reflection and suffered an adverse reaction.

The delightful Stacey Solomon was to follow with her interpretation of ‘Make You Love Me’. Flanked by swaying musicians, plucking their instruments she produced a wonderful performance. She certainly had a blend of a young Babs Streisand and Celine Dion about her.

We were all enjoying the evening and one had briefly wondered why one had turned one’s back on the show … then one remembered … the Brothers Grime!

As Chu Me turned to bang his head against the wall in disbelief, Willy shouted,” Look at the pair of them! They look as camp as tits in those outfits!”

“Willy! Language!” Fanny shouted.

Looking at them in their little, tight, white suits with frigate sized sneakers, one could quite understand where Willy was coming from and told Fanny not to concern herself.

This week the twins were singing a Wham medley … badly … and in true Jedward style, the backing vocals were at such a level that they could have been singing like Dame Edna Everage and it would have sounded acceptable. One would have received more pleasure having one's fingernails ripped out without anaesthetic than one did from their performance.

After a rather fraught week, our next potential pop poppet, Danyl Johnson stood centre stage (he who has a penchant for the man-biscuit as well as the lady-trifle). No backing singers, no theatricals and no nonsense, just him and his voice. Though his earpiece forced him off tune at the start of the song, he pulled it out of his aural canal and pitch was resumed, providing a lovely few minutes in our lives.

The penultimate act of the night was Oily Mares. This week he was excited that the performance was to be “more sexy, more modern and more current”. Certainly as he stood on stage in his black jeans and black shirt there was a resemblance to a shrivelled small baking ingredient but sadly there was no more fruitiness he could muster for his version of ‘Fast Love’. At times he was as flat as a witch’s tit and - all in all - a mediocre performance was unleashed.

One had enjoyed the acts so far but there was something missing … but what was it? Then as one’s heart began pounding more rapidly beneath one’s bosom and Fanny announced, “Crusty, your cheeks are very flushed! Are you not feeling well?” It was then that one realised the last act of the night must be our South Shields stud-muffin Joe McElderry.

He took to the stage for ‘Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me’. Fanny and I looked at each other and screamed. Chu Me and Willy tutted and walked back to the buffet table. Juicy Joe’s interpretation of the song was incredible and he had the entire audience spellbound. As he let rip on his finale, one was over come and one’s legs buckled causing Crusty to drop towards the floor. Luckily, Fanny was there to catch me as all four judges were getting to their feet for an ovation.

As one’s dear friend cooled me with her flapping fan, all I could say in weak, whispered tones was, “oh Fanny, wasn’t he a-b-s-o-l-u-t-e-l-y awe-inspiring?”

The results show and our treat was the adorable Susan Boyle and the foof-flashing, hooter-hoisting Harpy, Mariah Scarey. The latter sang her latest over-worked offering of a Foreigner song with a million golden sperm flying around on the screen behind her … what Chu Me? … Butterflies? … Then it’s a long time since you’ve seen a butterfly, dear; one knows sperm when one sees it and trust your mistress, she was surrounded in it.”

After her high pitched whining it was down to the result and our bottom two were The Brothers Grime (hooorah!!) and Oily Mares (¡Joder! y ¡Qué sorpresa!).

Thankfully, this week there was no spineless nonsense from the judges and one must say Danniii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) is ascending to new heights in Crusty’s estimation … she’s certainly proving to be a young woman with a lot of spunk.

Anyhoo ... The Twins were out!!!!! (Get your hat and coat’s, dears, the exit’s at the back of the stage. Don't talk to anyone and leave your dressing room key at the stage door).

X Factor (Week 6) - Crusty's Interest Returns?

Having regained a very slight interest in the shenanigans of X Factor following the vicar’s wise words one decided to proceed cautiously and watch Week 6's stage from the comfort of one’s Drawing Room. There was to be no nibbles, Chu Me was in his quarters, watching one of his specialist nature videos and one only had a bottle of the finest Pere Ventura Brut Nature Tresor Cava in an ice-bucket by one’s side for company.

Though Chu Me was not to enjoy the evening with his mistress, he had asked earlier in the day what the theme de jour was. “Queen night.” One had said.

His eyebrows raised as he pointed out that even though controversy reigned, at least there would be an overwhelming feeling of glamour, colour co-ordination, well manicured nails and a delicate hint of Kouros in the air. It was at this juncture that one had to clarify that the evening was actually surrounding a legendary pop group called Queen.

Anyhoo … the show finally started and one forced one’s self to be interested. Queen’s ‘Flash’ blasted out and our judges appeared. Simon comfortably wearing the same outfit he had been wearing the week before, Louise accessorising with a narrow black tie (almost as if he was in mourning for the death of the show’s integrity). Danniiiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) was, for once, dressed quite pleasantly and there were definitely no signs of moth holes in the glittering fabric.

Cheryl y’-nailed-it Cole had clearly confused ‘Flash’ with domestic cleaning duties and had draped a sequined bin bag around her spindles and buffed up her legs to a shimmering shine.

Simon gave a patronising and worthless apology at the storm he had caused the week before, then threw down his gauntlet to Sting after his comments on the karaoke style feel of the show.

Anyhoo … act one was Jamie Aerosmith Archer. Dressed smartly in shiny pantloons, with no sign of table cloths hanging from his rear buttocks and his afro treated to the Cleo Lane treatment, one expected a lot from his performance of ‘Radio Ga Ga’. Sadly, it was not to be and perhaps it was over-confidence but in the quieter moments of the song, hitting the right notes was not something he managed to achieve.

Our little Welsh poppet, Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels, was to follow Jamie. Yoda Friendman had managed to find a way to get everything inside of him and it certainly made something wonderful happen, as Lloyd’s lungs produced a little extra umph throughout his rendition of ‘Crazy Little Thing Called Love’. Simon wasn’t too impressed and suggested he was like “a puppy in the Grand National” (where as Simon is a knackered old mare in a paddock of young equestrian wonderment).

An injury had occurred during the week for our next turn. It was Oily Mares. He had apparently been fooling around in the gym at the house the contestants share and managed to break a bone in his hand. Though he acted as the perfect gentleman and didn’t say it himself, Crusty knew it was because he had punched the Brothers Grime. As one took a sip of one’s Pere Ventura, one raised one's glass and whispered, “Good show, dear!"

His version of ‘Don't Stop Me Now’ was quite acceptable and even Dannniiiii said it “brought a smoil to moi fice.” (and with the botox involved, dears, that’s quite an accomplishment).

Delicious Dermott (so much more that just a presenter, Ms Walsh!!) then introduced the heavenly Joe McElderry. One grabbed the arm of the sofa with one’s right hand, bit the index finger on one’s left and squealed with excitement as he took to the stage with ‘Somebody to Love’. It was as if he was singing it directly to Crusty and one’s heart was all a pitter-patter.

Louise for some reason was not happy with the choir that was behind Joe, but considering his remaining ‘act’ (though one prefers ‘travesty’) has been drowned out by the volume of their backing singers since the start, everyone else brushed off the old, grey-haired man in the corner and gave more enlightened comments.

Coincidentally, after Ms Walsh’s comments about the choir behind juicy Joe, Satan’s children took to the stage with an entourage of backing singers performing a Vanilla Ice number. Poor Louise confused Movie week with ‘Movies that Louis Walsh Has Seen” and this week he confused Queen week with “Sampled Queen Songs Within Other Artist's Songs”. Sufficed to say the performance was appalling and the only joy one obtained from it was when one of the little dears nearly tripped arse-over-tit when he ripped through the paper back drop at the start.

The fabulous Stacey Solomon glided on to centre stage after our visit to the depths of Hell. This week performing ‘Who Want To Live Forever’ (a personal favourite of Crusty’s). Dressed in a stunning copper coloured dress, she certainly was a conductor of vocal power and as the sparkling light cascaded, like a diamond curtain, behind her one almost thought one’s knicker elastic was about to snap. A triumph!

Smoulderingly, sexy Danyl Johnson was our next course (he who has a penchant for the man-biscuit as well as the lady-trifle) and the song of choice? ‘We Are The Champions’. One must say one enjoyed his performance and certainly the crowd seemed to also.

Though one had watched the evenings proceedings, one still wasn’t back to 100% interested but when the results show came on Sunday one felt stirrings. The final two were Lloyd and Jamie.

For their sing-off songs, Lloyd sang something awful and Jamie gave us ‘The Show Must Go On’ (well, not for you, dear!) for as the show went to deadlock, Jamie was ejected from the competition.

As Simon Cowell’s jaw dropped to the floor like a cowpat splatting to a farmyard floor from its orifice of origin, one squealed with delight and applauded loudly, and do you know poppets, one thinks one has gained one’s interest back again. Quite the result!

As Dermott closed the show, he broke the news that the hideous Mariah Scarey is returning next week. Still, one's interest has been rejuvenated, so let's not allow that to spoil things. There is the blessing that the lovely Susan Boyle is also performing, so maybe she can teach Mariah a little humility.

Reflection During Afternoon Tea.

After the farcical goings on that occurred on Week 5 of the X Factor competition, Crusty had lost her interest in the whole proceedings. One had posted one’s review and thought, “That’s it! This piss-poor excuse for a talent competition does not deserve the attention one is giving it.”

However, later that week one had a spot of afternoon tea at Crusty Hall and it appeared things were about to change.

It was held in the conservatory and one’s dear friend Fanny O’Dour – landlady of The Badger’s Snatch – was in attendance, as was the vicar.

Chef had prepared his special scones and a rather delicious sponge cake. He had also ensured that we had copious quantities of clotted cream and strawberry jam on hand so that one’s guests could over indulge in scone heaven, should they be so inclined. As a special treat a mountainous plate of egg and cress sandwiches was also provided, with delicious homemade mayonnaise and took pride of place in the centre of the table.

One’s faithful houseboy, Chu Me, naturally attended and ensured that tea was maintained at adequate levels and then kindly tickled his ivories in the corner (one always thinks background music is a must when entertaining, don’t you?).

“So Crusty,” said Fanny, “You’re not going to be writing your weekly review of the X Factor anymore?”

The shock caused the vicar to swallow his refreshment the wrong way and he began choking on his mouthful of tea. As he began to turn (a rather stunning shade of) red, he rattled his tea cup onto its saucer, clutched his chest while gaining his composure and managed to croak, “What!?”

“No, vicar,” one replied,”one has decided that it’s all a terrible fix; one week it’s a singing competition, another week it’s a popularity contest and then it’s a soft-core porn movie week with Oily Mares exposing his fuzzy pectoral expanse without warning; for goodness sake, one had something small at the back of one’s throat at the time and one could have quite easily choked! Olives can be deadly! No, it is a competition of depravity. There are potential jewels of the popworld’s tiara waiting to be placed in there settings but it is clearly about keeping the acts in that generate the most votes and, therefore, the most money for the ‘judges’ (and that is using the term very loosely). One only hopes one’s South Shields sexpot Joe can survive the whole tawdry experience, win the competition and set off on a journey of uber-stardom with his outstanding vocal oscillations….”

Tears forced their way from one’s tear ducts as one continued,” …and one feels so helpless and unable to protect him so far away.”

Chu Me rushed to one’s side with a handkerchief and as one blotted the small droplets of moisture from one’s velvety smooth cheeks, Fanny took control.

“It’s utter madness vicar! Tell Sebastian what your Twitterchums and Facebook friends said. Go on, Crusty! Tell him!”

One placed the sodden handkerchief up one’s sleeve and picked up a scone and prepared to butter it,” Well, they all know how furious one is at the whole affair but have sent kind messages asking me to continue, and now one finds oneself in a terrible pickle.”

“Then, Crusty my dear lady,“ the vicar said, “ you must do the right thing and listen to those who love you. Yes, of course, to watch this tawdry nonsense may bring you pain and discomfort but think of the people out there who rely on the wisdom of the Gusset. Why, my own wife Marjorie is always coming home after choir practice in floods of tears from your pearls of wisdom to her.”

“Well,” one sniffed delicately, “she does squeal like a banshee and none of the others will say anything!”

“And what about Joe McElderry? How will he get through his experience in such a den of deceit without you being there for him? Furthermore, how will he know you are there for him, if you do not write your reviews and share them with the world?”

One grew weary of one’s company and asked Chu Me to take them home in GUSSET 1 and as the gleaming Bentley drove off down the gravel drive one closed the main door and keeping tight hold of the glistening knob realised the matter needed more thought.

One sashayed to the ballroom to replay previous weeks of the competition and reflect on what had happened and what one must do going forward.

As my darling poppet Joe appeared to sing, one felt like Sigourney Weaver when she’d had enough of the slime-dribbling aliens and it was at that very moment one realised one's reviews must go on.

Joe McElderry, Crusty is with you once more!

X Factor (Week 5) - Farce Makes Crusty Lose Interest

Week 5 of the competition arrived on our screens and this week was all about Movies.

The Ballroom was an inappropriate choice to watch such an extravaganza. As one has a 20 seat cinema in Crusty Hall itself, one thought there could be no better place in which to soak up the cinemalicious performances from our potential superstar poppets; nibbles were laid out and bottles of delicious Pere Ventura Cava was put on ice to enjoy throughout.

As the theme to Star Wars echoed out across the studio, the hangar doors opened and out stepped our four judges. Simon and Louise were well turned out again. Danniiiiii opted for the Princess Leia look without the oatmeal baps stuck to each side of her head and Cheryl y-nailed-it Cole successfully pulled off Chewbacca in black cocktail dress and heels.

As the judges were helped to their seats, the competition started and first on stage was Dolly Dagenham singing ‘Son of a Preacher Man’. Due to the nature of song - and the iconic stamp placed on it by Dusty Springfield - it was important for Stacey to become sexy and - despite not having achieved this himself - Yoda Friedman gave her a appropriately choreographed routine and wardrobe poured her into, what looked like, a PVC cat suit. With the accompanying cardigan draped provocatively down one arm she sizzled like a piece of sirloin steak on a George Forman grill, with equally delicious lines.

Oily Mares filled the stage next with an entourage of dancers, for the ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’ song ‘Twist and Shout’, by the Beatles. As he belted out a comfortable interpretation of this well covered classic his little turkey legs were working overtime, like a pair of pinball machine flappers in leather upper footwear.

After the strong vocals of Oily, it was the time for he who hits 7½ on the tottyometer, Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels.

Chewbacca’s song choice for him was ‘Stand by Me’ and initially one thought it would be perfect for his vocal range and tone. However, Crusty was wrong and despite a valiant effort the song seemed flat and soulless. During the song, one saw him walk from the stage towards Cheryl and one shouted, in increasing crescendo,” Don’t you dare hold her hand, dear! DON’T YOU DARE! DOOOOONNN’T ….” And then he did! At that all important point of bile-wrenching, artificial sentimentality one is quite sure one felt a little bit of sick in the back of one’s throat.

Dannnniiiiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) pointed out that Lloyd had a certain range he could sing in (after that performance, dear the only range one could think of was a one with rifles in it).

Jamie Archer performed next with the Roy Orbison and Joe Melson classic ‘Crying’ from the films ‘Gummo’ (1997) and David Lynch’s ‘Mulholland Drive’ (though in the latter it was translated to Spanish and titled ‘Llorando’). An adequate Aerosmith performance was produced (and minus table wear dragging along behind, which was a boon). Sadly, Louise thought the theme of the week was Movies that Louis Walsh Has Seen and accused Simon of cheating as he hadn’t seen the movies in question.

Our blossoming pop vixen of the valleys, Lucie Jones, was on stage next and gave an outstanding performance of a song from the film ‘Camp Rock’ (No, one hasn’t hear of it either, dear). She was totally at ease with herself and her voice was pop perfection. Even Simon told her it was the first time she had made herself relevant in the contest.

In the introduction to our next act, Simon told us, “It’s about time this got back to being a singing competition”; Danyl Johnson (he with a penchant for man-biscuit as well as lady-trifle) was up.

One has never particularly liked ‘Purple Rain’ when it has been sung by Prince (Thimble Jean, or whatever he’s calling himself these day) but one must say Danyl – dressed in his tight fitting black ensemble and his new short cropped haircut – gave Crusty a rather pleasing leg-buckler as one sat enthralled by his slot.

The Brothers Grime were on next and after murdering so many well known favourites over the weeks since the competition started, it was appropriate that they sang ‘Ghostbusters’. In true Jedward style, they failed to hit the cue for the start of the song, their voices never seemed to meet up at the cocktail party of harmony and it was quite hilarious watching them as they jerked to a pause to make sure both were at the correct marker before embarking on their next collection of Yoda-inspired dance steps. All with an albino Mr Blobby boogieing on down in the background.

As Daannniiiii gave her judgement over the noise of the audience, “You either sing or you’re crap”, she said.

One shouted, “Well, they’re quite obviously crap, dear!” Then Chu Me pointed out she’d actually said, “…or you rap.” Nevertheless, one still stands by one’s original verdict.

Suddenly, one began to feel a little warm and one was aglow with perspiration; one’s heart began to beat faster. One made a quick grab for one’s fan and cooling down, one wondered what on earth was happening. Then it all became clear … the final act of the evening was our gorgeous South Shields sexpot, Joe McElderry. During the video sequence he had visited – as had the others – the premier of ‘A Christmas Carol’ and as he stood on the red carpet, it was difficult to tell which was the brighter; the thousands of photographer’s flashbulbs or juicy Joe’s smile.

His interpretation of ‘Circle of Life’ was sublime and even my pussy, Crotchet, sitting in the chair at one’s side was flicking his tail in time to the music and purring loudly with contentment.

Louise was confused because it was a song from musical theatre (another film he clearly hadn’t seen, bless him). Then as the delicious Dermott responded to Louise’s comment, Ms Walsh threw her clutch purse to the floor and shouted, “You’re not a judge. I’m a judge and you’re a presenter!”

Outrageous!! Indeed he is a presenter, but I think Ms Walsh will find it is Dermott’s skill in that field that is keeping this rather piss-poor attempt at a talent competition from sinking into the abyss of poo it is sailing over. One can go to any bingo hall in England and drag out four people who could jibber-jabber and talk utter bollocks on a weekly basis and I think Louise should remember that or go back to reading Kerrang.

The results show arrived on Sunday evening and the acts in the bottom two were The Brothers Grime and the lovely Lucie Jones. An ideal opportunity to rid the nation of the Bill and Ben of pop had arrived. Simon assured the nation that they would forget everything that had happened previously and they would decide from their performances in the sing off.

Lucie sang a Whitney the Poo number absolutely beautifully and Jedward decided on Robbie Williams ‘Rock DJ’. They bounced annoyingly around the stage, their vocals being drowned out/camouflaged* (* - delete as appropriate) by the backing track and singers. Judges were fooled; “You vocals really came together”.

For some obscure reason the judgements followed in the same order; Louise, Dannniiiii, Cheryl then Simon. Then, for some even more obscure reason our mulit-million pound, musical, cut-throat genius Simon couldn’t decide between the fabulous voice of Lucie (‘it’s about time it got back to becoming a singing competition’ [Simon Cowell]) and The Brothers Grime (‘We’ve established you can’t sing’[Simon Cowell]), so put it to the public vote and DEADLOCK. Outrageous!!!

It was at that moment, Lucie realised what was about to happen and covered her beautiful face with her hands. Lucie was out of the competition!

The audience were incensed and so was Crusty. Indeed, Chu Me is still cleaning the residue of the thirteen smoked salmon and cream cheese vol-au-vents one catapulted at Simon’s face from one’s seat from the cinema screen.

Later, on X Factor Extra, Simon tried to justify his decision to Holly Wobbley in a smarmy, patronising manner attempting to make the audience believe if he had had money on it, he really thought it was going to go the other way. As voting had effortlessly kept Satan’s sons in the competition so far, one thinks he is either extremely naïve or not the music genius we have all been led to believe.

Sven Advertising Helps Crusty.

Crusty awoke this morning with a slight sniffle but one couldn’t find a tissue anywhere. A building the size of Crusty Hall, with so many rooms, and not a sumptuously soft nasal-residue remover to hand. Would you believe it?

One remembered Chu Me is very meticulous about keeping his collection of specialist nature DVDs in tip-top shape, so one suspected he had used them all in order to give a quick squirt and a wipe to his pride and joy.

Never mind, one continued with one’s morning routine then, after breakfast, one dressed for the icy winds outside and took GUSSET 2 down to the village chemist to replenish one’s stocks.

As one’s gleaming Aston pulled up outside the doorway, one completely forgot the quality brand of tissues one normally procures for the main household.

As one locked the car door, entered the shop and walked towards the counter, one saw the village Chemist, Annelise Stules-Hoffen, stood attentively behind the counter.

“Good morning, Dame Crusty.” She said, dressed in her crisp white coat and decorated with a welcoming smile.

“Good morning, dear!” One replied, before continuing on one's quest, “Annelise, poppet, one seems to have ran out of tissues at Crusty Hall and one has an frightful sniffle starting, but one can’t remember the quality brand one normally purchases.”

It was at that moment one remembered the advert on television one had seen only the night before.

“Ah, wait one moment, dear! They’re the ones where that rather chunky gentleman sits weeping on the settee stroking his furry, wrinkled friend and his fiancé gives him one from behind.”

Annelise’s eyes widened and then a frown appeared on her gorgeously smooth forehead as she tried to solve the puzzle.

“You know, dear, the one where saucy Sven-Goran Eriksson is dribbling over the player’s wash basket in the changing room; the door opens and that rather hunky sportsman slips in to grab his balls … then when he shoots off, he leaves Sven on his knees with his back arched, he arms outstretched and a satisfied smile on his face.”

It was as if our minds had connected telepathically and a box of Kleenex was lifted from underneath the counter.

“Splendid! Better take two, poppet, just in case Chu Me’s in buffing mode again.”

With that, one headed back to the warmth of one’s home thinking how remarkable it was that the world of advertising helps us so much in our daily interaction with one another!

X Factor (Week 4) - What a Malarkey!

This week the nation was to be subjected to Rock Week. Due to the very nature of the genre, Crusty opted not to use the Ballroom to enjoy this stage of the competition. Naturally, one didn’t want such powerful vibrations rattling though one’s crystal chandeliers. So, instead, one settled oneself in the Drawing Room.

Simon and Louise were – as always – dapperly dressed in black suits with their poppies poignantly placed in their button holes.

Dannnniiiiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard’s sticking) opted for a full length gown with an over-locked slit up the side of the skirtal area and a bare shoulder brazenly being displayed. Sadly, she appeared not to have hung her balls in the closet and, as a result, a flutter of moths had stopped off to feast on the glittering fabric; there were holes munched out of the entire area located north of the waistline.

Cheryl – by no means an icon of fashion – chose an utterly ridiculous black mini affair accessorised with a pair of Simon’s thigh length, poly-blend winter socks. The garment was extremely tight and highly inappropriate but – whether by luck or by good management – she managed to find time to stop by a Spanish funeral and pinch two of the lady-mourner’s abanicos (fans) and glue them to her hooters in order to finish the ensemble.

Just as one thought one wouldn’t enjoy an hour and three quarters of ‘Rock’, one’s heart was lifted above the clouds when one’s South Shields Sexpot, Joe McElderry was introduced. One dug one’s fingernails into Chu Me’s arms and screamed until the Royal Worcester collection rattled in its display cabinet. As one saw him gyrating away on one’s 32 incher, he certainly managed to rock one’s box, I can tell you, despite a pair of lead-hoofed dancers flinging themselves around behind him.

Lucie Jones metamorphosised into a vixen from the valleys this week, to give us Guns ‘n’ Roses ‘Sweet Child of Mine’. She stormed around the glitterlicious stage like a true rock princess. Cheryl was certainly impressed and as she gave her comments her voice reached harpy-esque levels only the canine world could hear.

The third rocker of the night was Danyl Johnson (he who has a penchant for man-biscuit as well as lady-trifle). Danyl had a bit of a blow last week (but not in that way) after finding himself in the bottom two. Crusty was outraged, however, that our gorgeous puppy-eyed pop-hopeful had been branded more hated than Hitler by our nation’s media. This is absolute nonsense when there are people like Jan Moir (the manly-shouldered Daily Mail ‘journalist’ with the broad facial expanse of a Bull Mastiff), Peter Peggy-on-a-Sunday Mandelson and Nick Griffin.

Yoda Friedman offered Danyl his support during the week of rehearsals – for what that was worth - and as Danyl took to centre stage it was as if he had walked into the newsagents of music but all his notes were placed on the top shelf and, despite valiant efforts, he was just a little too short to reach them. All in all, he seemed lost. One feels we need a Hi-NRG week: get Danyl to sing an Eartha Kitt number in a pair of sequined black budgie-smugglers and one is quite sure his popularity would be resurrected.

Next we saw Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels sitting centre stage on a golden throne, singing Kate Perry’s ‘I Kissed A Girl’. As he performed it, it seemed his entire epidermal expanse was covered with lipstick kisses and at one point a cheeky little dancing minx appeared to grab his crotchal area. Thankfully the protection of his denimwear protected him and a shocked slip into a high C was avoided.

Danniiiii thought his voice was drowned out by the track and one thought what a shame the track wasn’t playing when she was giving us her opinion. What a boon that would have been!

Dolly Dagenham was contestant number 5; This week Yoda used his creative skills to give Stacey a choreographed routine to satisfy Simon. However, as her glorious voice pierced the aural canals of the audience, we discovered Yoda’s routine comprised of her putting one foot in front of the other … walking, in actual fact!

Jamie Archer wanted to give something a little special and not the normal pub-rocker performance. At the last minute, however, nerves must have got the better of him and it was the latter that he delivered. As he ‘got his rocks off’ in front of the audience, one noticed the return of the table cloth hanging from his buttock pocket and wondered how many more he could possibly have to display from his rectal region.

For some inexplicable reason Dannnniiiiiiiiii decided to bring the tempo down for the delicious Rachel Adedeji this week. A dreadful song choice – U2’s ‘One Love’ – which Rachel managed to salvage with her fabulous vocal interpretation; a soulful sea of sumptuousness, one must say.

Then, one was troubled as one prepared oneself for the next act. One could hear the music but for some reason – as one banged the remote control against one’s bow-legged tall boy – one appeared to be watching David Attenborough’s ‘Life’ and footage of two Giant Pandas. As one wondered where they had hidden their bamboo canes, Chu Me informed me it was, in reality, the Brothers Grime on screen.

As the leather-clad Pop-Pandas stomped around the stage, frantically grasping for a note they could hit, one noticed the arc of flames at the back of the stage and the bursts of fire shooting out from the front. It was then one realised one was in Hell.

During her comments, Danniiiiii revealed she looked forward to seeing the twins each week (try carrying a photo, dear!) and when the delicious Dermott asked how they were coping with the bad press, they told us they just took it on the chin (Chu Me! One’s boxing gloves and a horseshoe, if you please!).

Our final performance of the evening was the broad-shouldered Oily Mares. Yoda had concerns about his timidity, but as he took to the stage, with his muscular, manly shoulders straining against his denim shirt and his legs flapping about in his Marcel Marceau tribute pants, his performance of a Beatles classic was quite superb. Though, one doesn’t know if Oily has the X Factor, when he ripped open his shirt to expose his pectoral plane, he certainly developed the Oooohhh Factor here at Crusty Hall.

The result on the following day surely came as a blow to the entire nation. Chi Chi and Chan Chan got through and it was the lovely Lloyd and raunchy Rachel who were to face the judges decision to eliminate. Lloyd tried his best during the sing-off, despite a sore throat and croaking in the middle of his lines, while Rachel sang sublimely. However, although Simon had the deciding vote and had not been greatly impressed with Lloyd since the start, he put the vote to the public and it was good-bye Rachel!! What on earth is going on?!

One is now of the opinion the whole malarkey is becoming ridiculous and is proving to be only on our screen to generate money for the Cowell empire and not to give Her Majesty’s realm a true talent to proudly hold to its bosom.

This is a talent competition ! We are to find someone who can blow one’s tights off ! Trust Crusty's wisdom when one tells you the Dung Poo Pandas do not fall into that category.