Last Saturday night, Chu Me and the household staff made the preparations in the ballroom for the 3rd instalment of X-Factor; nibbles were placed in the bar adjoining the ballroom and the glitter ball was twisting at a satisfactory velocity.
Tonight, the lovely Louise was returning after his two week absence following the tragic and untimely death of little pop poppet, Stephen Gately. And what a miss he was.
The theme for this week was Big Band. Songs from the glittering showrooms of Las Vegas and the vocal chords of greats such as Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald and Sammy Davis Jr. The gorgisimus Michael Bublé was holding the master classes for week 3, so our hopefuls were in very safe hands.
The judges were well turned out. In particular Simon and Louise. Cheryl y’nailed-it Cole - for once - wore an outfit that looked like a dress and not the pieces of fruit and lampwear she had opted for in previous weeks; sadly, the effect was spoilt by rather scraggy hair. The hairstylist behind the scenes, clearly giving up at the very last minute, simply placed a giant glittering clamp to the side of her head.
Dannniiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) went for a costume appropriate for Big Band night and successfully managed to look like someone born in the 1930s, though one feels the dress was surplus to requirements.
First to entertain the nation ... Oily Mares. 'Bewitched' was a wonderful song choice to start off the evening. Two witches moved in time to the music, but thankfully managed to get their breaths back before giving their comments. Oily certainly had a ball and relaxed totally throughout his performance.
Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels followed on with one of Crusty’s all time favourites; 'Fly Me To The Moon'. His soothing tones were quite wonderful and as he performed a back flip - like a well dressed Ninja – one squealed with delight and applauded his athletic prowess.
Louise wasn’t at all impress with the back flip but on a positive note, began with, “If I was doing a boy band in the morning I’d sign you up…”, (If you were ‘doing’ a boy band in the morning, dear, one suspects you’d need plenty of stamina, a party pack of condoms and a bottle of mouthwash!).
Miss Frank gave us their modernised attitude-filled version of 'That’s Life' and for the first time in the competition their voices were as harmonious as a Chav with a Burberry baseball cap. One was put off slightly when Graziella started rapping, but a few lines in and one was quite taken with the addition to the arrangement.
After having to suffer the first two weeks in the bottom two, one was concerned about Rachel Adedeji. The poor poppet had been devastated. However, one thinks a lot of her problems were down to poor song choice from her mentor, Dannniiiiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking). One needn’t have worried; she took to the stage with her hair down and adorned in sparkling glitterati and began to trumpet out 'Proud Mary'. As Crusty reproduced the famous Tina Turner dance routine in the ballroom – kitchen staff as one’s dance troupe – one marvelled at the power of Miss Adedeji’s voice. Quite outstanding!
Jamie Aerosmith Archer followed with an outrageous U2 song!! U2?!! One would support Louise one hundred percent; it was Big Band week and a time to let rip with some of the classics of yesteryear, not to pick a song and simply stick a big band behind it.
Was it Sinatra? No: was it Vegas? No: as for swinging … what our internationally famous anti-poverty popsters get up to in their personal lives is not of one’s concern. On a positive note there was no sign of table cloths or over sized handkerchiefs hanging from his buttocks, so that was a boon.
A lively debate erupted between Louise and Simon, which ended with Simon jibing,”I don’t think you’re in a position to say anything with the two little horrors that are coming up next.” A shiver went down one’s spine and dispersed through one’s downstairs area as one thought Dannniiiiiii and Cheryl were to perform a duet, but then realised Simon was referring to the Brothers Grime.
With Dolly Dagenham, one had thought a Barbara Streisand number would be appropriate; a nice show tune. However, her mentor thought something different and we were given 'When You Wish Upon a Star'. Looking utterly gorgeous in her full length frock and advertising a figure any woman would stop eating chips for, she sang her little heart out to her son – Zach - across the televisual waves. Generally, her remarks were good, however Simon began on a negative note, “You looked better than you sounded, tonight.” (Mirror for Mr Cowell!).
Danyl Johnson (he who has a penchant for man-biscuit as well as lady-trifle) overdid his performance somewhat. One gets the impression he knows he had the X-Factor some years ago and is merely going through the motion until he gets his lapel badge and gilded certificate
Then delicious Dermott introduced the next contestant and one clapped one’s hands rapidly and squealed with excitement. Indeed, one found it quite a holy moment; as if a musical Moses had come to a sea of melodic mediocrity and moved his hands to part its waves to reveal? … One’s little Geordie poppet …Joe McElderry. Enveloped in a gorgeous double-breasted suit, he performed the classic 'Sway' superbly. His vocal vibrations rippled across one’s velvety flesh like iced water and one was forced to sit down during the audience’s ecstatic applause and grab hold of one's fan.
Lucie Jones was our penultimate act and deliciously sang 'My Funny Valentine' in a striking red dress. Her emotion, for one so young, was simply exquisite.
Then, the moment the nation had been dreading. It was the Brothers Grime; John and Edward. This week singing the Big Band (?) number 'She Bangs'. Sadly their pre-pubescent maturity, or lack thereof, did not allow them to comprehend the meaning of the song fully. However, that didn’t seem to matter as they gave a totally inexcusable performance anyway. One suspects the uberlicious Ricki Martin was selling the rights to the song as the performance stretched out. It is quite clear that these two do not even have Max Factor, let alone the X Factor!
Needless to say, the following night – on the results show – the British public voted for Bill and Ben (the annoying twin men) to go through to the following week. Corseted Miss Frank and overdone Danyl were subjected to the public vote and it was good-bye Miss Frank.
Heaven only knows what will happen next week!
Thursday, 29 October 2009
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Foof Alert! Mariah Releases New Single
Yesterday afternoon, one had seen to all of one’s important mail and agony questions in one’s Study. Chu Me took the embroidered silk satchel, containing the replies to be posted, and opted for GUSSET 3 to carry him on his quest to the village Post Office.
At a loose end for a short time, one decided to take a turn around the grounds of Crusty Hall with my loving pussy, Crotchet. There was a hint of rain over the village but Señor Sol was determined to try and force his warming rays through the clouds above. Yet one didn’t feel in any sort of predicament as one thought the moisture in the air could do nothing but add youthfulness to one’s complexion.
After several minutes, Crotchet grew bored and padded stealthily through one’s hedge and into the forest beyond. Crusty was now alone.
In the distance, one saw Gardener’s greenhouse and one decided to make one’s way towards it. After a short pause in the centre of the Enchanted Garden, to refill one’s tumbler at the magnificent nude statue of Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr (one quick press of the belly button and a filtered flow of gin cascades from his shrouded man biscuit), one continued one’s sashay to Gardener’s flora factory. Today, he was educating his apprentices.
“Don’t let one interrupt you, dear!” I said, as I entered the glazed erection.
Tilting his hat with his hand, to acknowledge one’s instruction, he and his trainee workforce continued in their work.
As one glided around the enormous expanse of Gardener’s secret place, one began to reflect on the outrage one felt at Week 3 of X Factor’s result; there could surely be nothing worse than the voices of the Brothers Grime, John and Edward (review of week 3 to follow), but evidently Crusty was wrong!
At that very moment, while I was pulling off Basil and Gardener was poking his fingers in peat, a familiar ditty transmitted from Radio 2’s airwaves – Gardener’s favourite – and we all stopped and looked at each other in horror.
Mariah Scarey had decided to release a cover version of a classic song for her next offering; ‘I Want To Know What Love Is’ by Foreigner (One thinks a more fitting question would be, I Want To Know What The Hell This Is !). Poppets will surely remember the spine-tingling gorgeousness of the original and I dare say many of one’s readers – those who have swam in the fondue of love – have spent many an intimate moment undulating to its marvellousness.
One suspects the same will not be experienced with Mariah’s offering.
As one listened to her vocal arrangement one was confused. The first half of her interpretation brought nightmarish visions to one’s mind. She attempts to inject an intonation of passion into the piece however, in truth, it sounded more like a half-hearted orgasm, or as if she was sitting in a luxurious lavatory with a touch of constipation and the echoing strains were ricocheting off the exquisite Spanish tiles surrounding her cubicle. As the piece builds to its climax and the final grab-one-by-the-throat series of high pitched squealings pierce the aural canal, it only made one think that the aforementioned constipation had been conquered and an over-enthusiastic bowel release had been accomplished.
All-in-all, there seems a truly gargantuan lack of effort throughout.
As one thought the latest album cover has three Mariah’s splashed across it (as if one weren’t enough), with the expected attack of bosoms (in triplicate) being smothered under and frantically trying to escape from a sheer white dress; this combined with a rising hem line which verges on a dangerous threat of foof exposure.
Crusty has not witnessed the video for her interpretation, but one suspects it will follow in the same vain.
At a loose end for a short time, one decided to take a turn around the grounds of Crusty Hall with my loving pussy, Crotchet. There was a hint of rain over the village but Señor Sol was determined to try and force his warming rays through the clouds above. Yet one didn’t feel in any sort of predicament as one thought the moisture in the air could do nothing but add youthfulness to one’s complexion.
After several minutes, Crotchet grew bored and padded stealthily through one’s hedge and into the forest beyond. Crusty was now alone.
In the distance, one saw Gardener’s greenhouse and one decided to make one’s way towards it. After a short pause in the centre of the Enchanted Garden, to refill one’s tumbler at the magnificent nude statue of Mark makes-my-mouth-water Warr (one quick press of the belly button and a filtered flow of gin cascades from his shrouded man biscuit), one continued one’s sashay to Gardener’s flora factory. Today, he was educating his apprentices.
“Don’t let one interrupt you, dear!” I said, as I entered the glazed erection.
Tilting his hat with his hand, to acknowledge one’s instruction, he and his trainee workforce continued in their work.
As one glided around the enormous expanse of Gardener’s secret place, one began to reflect on the outrage one felt at Week 3 of X Factor’s result; there could surely be nothing worse than the voices of the Brothers Grime, John and Edward (review of week 3 to follow), but evidently Crusty was wrong!
At that very moment, while I was pulling off Basil and Gardener was poking his fingers in peat, a familiar ditty transmitted from Radio 2’s airwaves – Gardener’s favourite – and we all stopped and looked at each other in horror.
Mariah Scarey had decided to release a cover version of a classic song for her next offering; ‘I Want To Know What Love Is’ by Foreigner (One thinks a more fitting question would be, I Want To Know What The Hell This Is !). Poppets will surely remember the spine-tingling gorgeousness of the original and I dare say many of one’s readers – those who have swam in the fondue of love – have spent many an intimate moment undulating to its marvellousness.
One suspects the same will not be experienced with Mariah’s offering.
As one listened to her vocal arrangement one was confused. The first half of her interpretation brought nightmarish visions to one’s mind. She attempts to inject an intonation of passion into the piece however, in truth, it sounded more like a half-hearted orgasm, or as if she was sitting in a luxurious lavatory with a touch of constipation and the echoing strains were ricocheting off the exquisite Spanish tiles surrounding her cubicle. As the piece builds to its climax and the final grab-one-by-the-throat series of high pitched squealings pierce the aural canal, it only made one think that the aforementioned constipation had been conquered and an over-enthusiastic bowel release had been accomplished.
All-in-all, there seems a truly gargantuan lack of effort throughout.
As one thought the latest album cover has three Mariah’s splashed across it (as if one weren’t enough), with the expected attack of bosoms (in triplicate) being smothered under and frantically trying to escape from a sheer white dress; this combined with a rising hem line which verges on a dangerous threat of foof exposure.
Crusty has not witnessed the video for her interpretation, but one suspects it will follow in the same vain.
Monday, 26 October 2009
Dame Burley Chassis and the BBC Electric Proms.
One awoke on Sunday morning quite late and having got dressed, made one’s way down the grand staircase to the dining room. Chef was preparing breakfast this particular morning as Chu Me’s cock had been a little lax recently; the hens hadn’t been laying, you see.
Naturally, one took one’s place at the head of the dining table and, soon after, Chu Me entered to open the doors of the antique television cabinet in the far corner. He took his place at the opposite end and we waited for Chef’s delights.
As one scanned the listings on the televisual display, one noticed that the BBC Electric Proms were on; on this particular morning, it was Dame Burley Chassis being wheeled out to entertain us.
Do you know, poppets? Many years ago one received pleasure from listening to our little Tiger Bay Temptress until, that is, she attacked the uber-delicious Tina Turner at one of her dinner parties. She ridiculed the very high note Tina had to sing during the song Goldeneye: poor Tina wasn’t even there to defend herself!
But, poppets, let us be frank, cover a lighthouse in a shimmering evening dress, fling a feather boa round it and wait for a foggy day and Dame Burley may find she has a little competition. Plus of course, the gorgeous Tina can still manage to strut her magnificent gazelle-like self across a stage and perhaps there is a degree of jealousy from our viper from the valleys.
Anyhoo … from that day on, one gave all one’s Burley Chassis CDs to Ida Rash – she has the village charity shop with her siblings, Hedda and Ivor– to dispense with as she saw fit.
Dressed in an outfit clearly donated by a doting drag queen, she worked the stage as only she knows how; close ups revealed facial construction had been applied to a satisfactory micron setting and hair was teased into an acceptable style. The usual array of songs were presented – Goldfinger, Diamonds are Forever etc., and at one point, during Big Spender, she began to lower herself by bending her legs, eventually ending up with her rather substantial buttocks resting on her heels. One gasped, jerked forward and grabbed the edge of the dining table. Chu Me dropped his 18ct gold chop sticks with a clatter against his porcelain plate, anticipating a state of emergency.
“Goodness!” One screamed, “She’ll never manage to …why, it’ll be like raising the Titanic with no water!”
Then, relief … she did … whether by luck, an insurmountable rush of adrenalin or some clear nylon strings attached from above, she executed a stiletto-controlled lift and managed to get herself upright again (now that is something you won’t see on David Attenborough’s ‘Life’).
There were a few other worrying moments during her performance too; despite putting considerable effort into popping her hips out to Kiss Me Honey, Honey and Big Spender, there sadly came no movement, and thus valuable energy was lost. Indeed, the foolish attempts could well have led to her hips actually popping out… and one certainly doesn’t wish to see real-time hip displacement from a former icon during a pelvic thrust.
Nevertheless, the short set she gave the crowd was tolerable and, one must say, it was quite ingenious how her bingo wings brought an additional percussion element to the orchestration, cracking like whips in time to the music.
Naturally, one took one’s place at the head of the dining table and, soon after, Chu Me entered to open the doors of the antique television cabinet in the far corner. He took his place at the opposite end and we waited for Chef’s delights.
As one scanned the listings on the televisual display, one noticed that the BBC Electric Proms were on; on this particular morning, it was Dame Burley Chassis being wheeled out to entertain us.
Do you know, poppets? Many years ago one received pleasure from listening to our little Tiger Bay Temptress until, that is, she attacked the uber-delicious Tina Turner at one of her dinner parties. She ridiculed the very high note Tina had to sing during the song Goldeneye: poor Tina wasn’t even there to defend herself!
But, poppets, let us be frank, cover a lighthouse in a shimmering evening dress, fling a feather boa round it and wait for a foggy day and Dame Burley may find she has a little competition. Plus of course, the gorgeous Tina can still manage to strut her magnificent gazelle-like self across a stage and perhaps there is a degree of jealousy from our viper from the valleys.
Anyhoo … from that day on, one gave all one’s Burley Chassis CDs to Ida Rash – she has the village charity shop with her siblings, Hedda and Ivor– to dispense with as she saw fit.
Dressed in an outfit clearly donated by a doting drag queen, she worked the stage as only she knows how; close ups revealed facial construction had been applied to a satisfactory micron setting and hair was teased into an acceptable style. The usual array of songs were presented – Goldfinger, Diamonds are Forever etc., and at one point, during Big Spender, she began to lower herself by bending her legs, eventually ending up with her rather substantial buttocks resting on her heels. One gasped, jerked forward and grabbed the edge of the dining table. Chu Me dropped his 18ct gold chop sticks with a clatter against his porcelain plate, anticipating a state of emergency.
“Goodness!” One screamed, “She’ll never manage to …why, it’ll be like raising the Titanic with no water!”
Then, relief … she did … whether by luck, an insurmountable rush of adrenalin or some clear nylon strings attached from above, she executed a stiletto-controlled lift and managed to get herself upright again (now that is something you won’t see on David Attenborough’s ‘Life’).
There were a few other worrying moments during her performance too; despite putting considerable effort into popping her hips out to Kiss Me Honey, Honey and Big Spender, there sadly came no movement, and thus valuable energy was lost. Indeed, the foolish attempts could well have led to her hips actually popping out… and one certainly doesn’t wish to see real-time hip displacement from a former icon during a pelvic thrust.
Nevertheless, the short set she gave the crowd was tolerable and, one must say, it was quite ingenious how her bingo wings brought an additional percussion element to the orchestration, cracking like whips in time to the music.
Sunday, 25 October 2009
Clever L'Oreal Confuses Dame Crusty.
One was sitting in the Drawing Room last night watching the simply stunning Katherine Jenkins being interviewed by that odious little man, Piers Morgan.
One was highly impressed with her honesty, the closeness of her family and the privacy she wished to maintain regarding her relationship with all-round-action-studmuffin and slithery-hips Gethin Jones.
During one of the commercial breaks, just as one was taking a sip of a rather delicious gin and tonic that Chu Me had prepared, there came the close up shot of Cheryl y’nailed it Cole upon one’s 32 incher. I felt her eyes staring straight at one as she asked, “Weak? Limp? And Lifeless?”
“I know you are, dear!” One shouted.
Apparently, however, she wasn’t asking one’s opinion; it was a L’Oreal advert!
She’s certainly got her fingers in many pies, does she not, poppets?
One was highly impressed with her honesty, the closeness of her family and the privacy she wished to maintain regarding her relationship with all-round-action-studmuffin and slithery-hips Gethin Jones.
During one of the commercial breaks, just as one was taking a sip of a rather delicious gin and tonic that Chu Me had prepared, there came the close up shot of Cheryl y’nailed it Cole upon one’s 32 incher. I felt her eyes staring straight at one as she asked, “Weak? Limp? And Lifeless?”
“I know you are, dear!” One shouted.
Apparently, however, she wasn’t asking one’s opinion; it was a L’Oreal advert!
She’s certainly got her fingers in many pies, does she not, poppets?
Saturday, 24 October 2009
Dame Crusty Solves The Postal Strike
As readers will know, Crusty does not normally like to step in to the world of politics; one simple doesn't have the right shoes. Nevertheless, while one has been absorbing the daily news bulletins, one sees that the Post Office workers have gone on strike under the direction of their union, the CWU.
All in all it seems the union leaders and the Royal Mail managment have got themselves in a right old pickle. Peter Peggy-on-a-Sunday Mandelson's name has been dragged up but he, quite frankly, doesn't want to get involved.
As a result, the Royal Mail has had to take on casual staff ... and 'casual' certainly applies to the young man who delivers to Crusty Hall; long unkempt hair, baseball cap, shorts and sports pumps; honestly, one feels one has Rafa Nadal forcing his package into one's slot each morning! What ever happened to starched uniforms, polished brogues and a tip of the hat to say Good Morning?
Anyhoo ... having seen interviews with both sides, one can just imagine how the meetings that have been held have played out;
CWU: We're not going to ACAS until you drop your preconditions! [sticking out of tongues]
RM: Well, we're not going to ACAS until you stop your strike! [two fingers stuck up in an erect fashion]
CWU: No! We're not going to ACAS until you drop your preconditions! [lengthy rasp]
RM: We don't care - [pulling of funny face] - because we're not going to ACAS until you call of your strike!
CWU: So what? If you don't drop your preconditions, we'll give you a wedgy.
etc., etc., etc.
Having analysed the whole situation and observed how each party has been dealing with this dispute, one thinks the most appropriate solution to the whole affair is for them to go out into the playground and settle it with a game of Conkers!
Goodness, poppets! You are grown men and women and there are people's livelihoods at stake.
All in all it seems the union leaders and the Royal Mail managment have got themselves in a right old pickle. Peter Peggy-on-a-Sunday Mandelson's name has been dragged up but he, quite frankly, doesn't want to get involved.
As a result, the Royal Mail has had to take on casual staff ... and 'casual' certainly applies to the young man who delivers to Crusty Hall; long unkempt hair, baseball cap, shorts and sports pumps; honestly, one feels one has Rafa Nadal forcing his package into one's slot each morning! What ever happened to starched uniforms, polished brogues and a tip of the hat to say Good Morning?
Anyhoo ... having seen interviews with both sides, one can just imagine how the meetings that have been held have played out;
CWU: We're not going to ACAS until you drop your preconditions! [sticking out of tongues]
RM: Well, we're not going to ACAS until you stop your strike! [two fingers stuck up in an erect fashion]
CWU: No! We're not going to ACAS until you drop your preconditions! [lengthy rasp]
RM: We don't care - [pulling of funny face] - because we're not going to ACAS until you call of your strike!
CWU: So what? If you don't drop your preconditions, we'll give you a wedgy.
etc., etc., etc.
Having analysed the whole situation and observed how each party has been dealing with this dispute, one thinks the most appropriate solution to the whole affair is for them to go out into the playground and settle it with a game of Conkers!
Goodness, poppets! You are grown men and women and there are people's livelihoods at stake.
Monday, 19 October 2009
X Factor (Week 2) - Whitney the Poo and Cheryl Too
Week 2 of the nail-biting competition exploded onto our screens on Saturday night. This week was Diva week and there were only three judges in attendance. Dear Louise was attending the funeral of his close friend, pop star Stephen Gately, so understandably he had more important things on his mind. Simon, Danniiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard’s sticking) and Cheryl y’nailed-it Cole were introduced by the delicious Dermott and took to the stage.
Dannniiiiii, dressed in a velvet curtain with a dead dragonfly squashed to side panel and Cheryl – clearly without mirror in her dressing room and dressed like a tomato - stood alongside Simon as the audience cheered to the point of seepage.
Before the battle commenced, Simon took a moment to gush with excitement (though one has no idea why) to the world that Whitney the Poo would be singing on stage in the results show. Then continuing to gush, he introduce his mentor, the man who discovered Whitney and was the most successful man in the music industry. As the camera moved right, it rested on the person in question and one was shocked … Mike Reid?? First of all, one didn’t know how he found the time to discover anyone, what with Runaround and Eastenders but one also thought he had passed away! People kept mentioning someone called Clive, but as yet one has not managed to establish who they were referring too.
First up, Lucie Jones, singing the Whitney hit, ‘How Will I Know?’
She absorbed advice from Whitney and Mike Reid and then underwent a rigorous dance routine from Yoda Friedman. The result was a marvellous performance from our little Welsh poppet.
Next on stage … Oily Mares. This week a song by the utterly uber-delicious Tina Turner: one began to get excited: ’Proud Mary’ perhaps and Ohhhhh, what a proud Mary he would make … but no! The chosen song, poppets was ‘Fool in Love’ and Crusty approved. As he sang his little heart out, Chu Me and I shook a tail-feather around the ballroom. However, one must confess one was distracted somewhat by those legs in the ill-fitting silver suit trousers; all one could think of was the legs of a Christmas turkey wrapped tightly in foil.
Miss Frank were given ‘All The Man I need’, again by Whitney the Poo although, personally, one prefers the Luther Vandross version. The performance started with all three singing a solo section as an introduction. Sadly during their journey on the train tracks of harmony, their tickets seemed to be for different destinations when they met on the centre of the platform. In the last seconds of the song, one thought for one moment one had trodden on Crotchet’s tail; there was a terrible wail, then Chu Me pointed to the screen and advised me it was one of the singers attempting the money shot. Soon after an argument erupted over the comments, between Cheryl and Simon.
“Y’ know what, Simon, It took us [Girls Aloud], like, nearly two years before we’d connected with harmonies.” Simon quickly replied with, “I’d say three!” (I’d say they’re still working at it, dear or given up trying!)
The choice for the utterly gorgeous Rachel Adedeji was a strange one; ‘If I Were A Boy’ by Beyoncé. If our bootilicious superstar couldn’t pull off this appalling song, how was sweet Rachel to manage it; yet, manage it she did and the result was certainly acceptable.
Refreshingly, our little North East angel, Joe was up on the stage next and one knew that at least one act of the evening would be worth listening to and certainly Whitney and Mike Reid were impressed. His performance was gorgisimus and his gleaming, satisfied smile lit up the whole studio. As Chu Me and I waltzed around the ballroom, one swears our feet left the floor and we were suspended only by the vibrations of his heavenly voice.
Floating back to the parquet flooring, Danyl Johnson (he who has a penchant for the man-biscuit as well as lady-trifle) was next. Simon had made special arrangements for him to sing a Whitney song that no one had ever heard of (and having heard it, I doubt whether we’ll be hearing it again, dear!)
Dannniiiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) thought Danyl’s performance was flawless (One won’t be sending her out to buy one’s diamonds); Cheryl agreed and Simon thought the performance was incredible (were we watching the same act, one wonders). But Mike Reid certainly enjoyed it, as he clapped enthusiastically above his shiny head as the programme went to the adverts.
Something more mellow to follow: Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels. This week his Mentor, Cheryl, gave him Leona Lewis’ biggest hit, ‘Keep Bleeding’. The tone of his voice and delivery were delightful and despite Simon Cowell’s comments, one preferred young Lloyd’s version; all that screeching and multiple key changes Miss Lewis did made one think she had a compressor attached to her rectal region.
During the judges comments, when the penny dropped inside Cheryl’s head and the echo eventually subsided some time after, she realised the song was poo. Mrs y’nailed-it Cole felt completely and totally – in her own words – “rizponscybil” . But what an absolute hero Lloyd was as he braved a hug with his mentor as the droplets of tears forced their way from her tearducts. An absolute gentleman … and there aren’t many of them about these days, poppets.
Things settled down and it was the turn of Bill and Ben (the annoying twin men) – John and Edward. This week singing the Brittle Spears hit “Oops I Did it Again”. Yoda Friedman gave them the exact same dance routine he had given Brittle in the original video (although, after several replays one was unable to find any similarity). The vocals were terrible and the bright red shiny suits...well!! During the performance the landlord of the Badger’s Snatch – Willy O’Dour – popped his head through the ballroom door and shouted through his hysterical laughter, ” The time I saw a pair of tits that red was when Fanny sunbathed topless and fell asleep in the sun for 5 hours in Benalmadena!” One thought the comment was a little crude, but on reflection chuckled at his comparison.
The dance routine was quite painful to watch, though it was nice to see the girl from the Zovirax adverts find some part time work, despite her cold sore flaring up again (but is a motorcycle helmet really an acceptable concealer?)
Anyhoo … the routine began and ended with the twins on, and grabbing hold of, one of those trolley-type-fancies made for bell ends … or is it bell boys? … well, both are equally applicable after that performance.
After Simon’s comments last week, Cannelloni had his work cut out for him and the song choice from Cheryl could not have been worse. It certainly didn’t help his “karaoke” image as one could imagine him standing in his front room with his friends lying drunk beside him, and him singing the words from his television screen. Still it was nice that the production team managed to replicate the sound of an in-home Karaoke machine for the occasion. Dannniiiii apparently saw a little of Will Young in him … but that’s really not the sort of thing we want to see on Saturday night television when there could be children watching.
Jamie Archer completely ruined the only song I have ever liked from Miss Tarty-pants, Christina Aguilera, despite attempting to heighten the sense of emotion by choosing a 12 place table cloth to hang out of his buttock pocket. As a result the CA CD (the anagram speaks volumes) was handed to Chu Me and one ordered him to shred it immediately. Why must everything the man sings be a tribute to Aerosmith?
Finally, Dolly Dagenham and what a performance! Who would have known there was a set of lungs in someone so scatter brained? Fabulous start, endurable middle and an end that nearly blew one’s tights off.
The results show arrived the following evening and Cheryl was to perform ‘live’. Enveloped in sell of clothes from 5-Star’s wardrobe, she took to the stage and screeched her little lungs out. Whether ‘live’, pre-recorded, a little of both (Down, Danyl!!) she certainly achieved the affect one had expected; indeed, one’s ears have only stopped bleeding this morning. One searched all available sources to find the telephone number one had to call to have her voted off but to no avail. Instead, one sent a quick email to the television company.
After the tortuous foreplay, the real agony followed. Whitney the Poo, complete with sequinned frock that had not had time to be taken up, precariously clattered down the stairs at the rear of the stage to sing her repetitive new release. A little dancing, a little strutting, dress straps exploding from the bodice, a little crack in her voice and it was over. Crusty got the impression that the production company were thinking the same as her, when one saw the dollar bills flying all over the stage; as if someone in authority had said, “just throw the fee at her and hopefully she’ll go home.” As delicious Dermott approached her she turned and took a step back as if to question who this person was that dared walk towards her (someone who has sustained a successful career, dear! Pull up a chair and take notes).
Then the results ... and Cannelloni was on his way back over the border; the twins had been saved again … oh joy! That aside one cannot understand why the gorgeous British public are putting the stunning Rachel in the bottom each week; a sentiment that was echoed in the follow up show when Holly Wobbley and guests were equally perplexed.
Dannniiiiii, dressed in a velvet curtain with a dead dragonfly squashed to side panel and Cheryl – clearly without mirror in her dressing room and dressed like a tomato - stood alongside Simon as the audience cheered to the point of seepage.
Before the battle commenced, Simon took a moment to gush with excitement (though one has no idea why) to the world that Whitney the Poo would be singing on stage in the results show. Then continuing to gush, he introduce his mentor, the man who discovered Whitney and was the most successful man in the music industry. As the camera moved right, it rested on the person in question and one was shocked … Mike Reid?? First of all, one didn’t know how he found the time to discover anyone, what with Runaround and Eastenders but one also thought he had passed away! People kept mentioning someone called Clive, but as yet one has not managed to establish who they were referring too.
First up, Lucie Jones, singing the Whitney hit, ‘How Will I Know?’
She absorbed advice from Whitney and Mike Reid and then underwent a rigorous dance routine from Yoda Friedman. The result was a marvellous performance from our little Welsh poppet.
Next on stage … Oily Mares. This week a song by the utterly uber-delicious Tina Turner: one began to get excited: ’Proud Mary’ perhaps and Ohhhhh, what a proud Mary he would make … but no! The chosen song, poppets was ‘Fool in Love’ and Crusty approved. As he sang his little heart out, Chu Me and I shook a tail-feather around the ballroom. However, one must confess one was distracted somewhat by those legs in the ill-fitting silver suit trousers; all one could think of was the legs of a Christmas turkey wrapped tightly in foil.
Miss Frank were given ‘All The Man I need’, again by Whitney the Poo although, personally, one prefers the Luther Vandross version. The performance started with all three singing a solo section as an introduction. Sadly during their journey on the train tracks of harmony, their tickets seemed to be for different destinations when they met on the centre of the platform. In the last seconds of the song, one thought for one moment one had trodden on Crotchet’s tail; there was a terrible wail, then Chu Me pointed to the screen and advised me it was one of the singers attempting the money shot. Soon after an argument erupted over the comments, between Cheryl and Simon.
“Y’ know what, Simon, It took us [Girls Aloud], like, nearly two years before we’d connected with harmonies.” Simon quickly replied with, “I’d say three!” (I’d say they’re still working at it, dear or given up trying!)
The choice for the utterly gorgeous Rachel Adedeji was a strange one; ‘If I Were A Boy’ by Beyoncé. If our bootilicious superstar couldn’t pull off this appalling song, how was sweet Rachel to manage it; yet, manage it she did and the result was certainly acceptable.
Refreshingly, our little North East angel, Joe was up on the stage next and one knew that at least one act of the evening would be worth listening to and certainly Whitney and Mike Reid were impressed. His performance was gorgisimus and his gleaming, satisfied smile lit up the whole studio. As Chu Me and I waltzed around the ballroom, one swears our feet left the floor and we were suspended only by the vibrations of his heavenly voice.
Floating back to the parquet flooring, Danyl Johnson (he who has a penchant for the man-biscuit as well as lady-trifle) was next. Simon had made special arrangements for him to sing a Whitney song that no one had ever heard of (and having heard it, I doubt whether we’ll be hearing it again, dear!)
Dannniiiii Minge (sorry, my keyboard’s sticking) thought Danyl’s performance was flawless (One won’t be sending her out to buy one’s diamonds); Cheryl agreed and Simon thought the performance was incredible (were we watching the same act, one wonders). But Mike Reid certainly enjoyed it, as he clapped enthusiastically above his shiny head as the programme went to the adverts.
Something more mellow to follow: Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels. This week his Mentor, Cheryl, gave him Leona Lewis’ biggest hit, ‘Keep Bleeding’. The tone of his voice and delivery were delightful and despite Simon Cowell’s comments, one preferred young Lloyd’s version; all that screeching and multiple key changes Miss Lewis did made one think she had a compressor attached to her rectal region.
During the judges comments, when the penny dropped inside Cheryl’s head and the echo eventually subsided some time after, she realised the song was poo. Mrs y’nailed-it Cole felt completely and totally – in her own words – “rizponscybil” . But what an absolute hero Lloyd was as he braved a hug with his mentor as the droplets of tears forced their way from her tearducts. An absolute gentleman … and there aren’t many of them about these days, poppets.
Things settled down and it was the turn of Bill and Ben (the annoying twin men) – John and Edward. This week singing the Brittle Spears hit “Oops I Did it Again”. Yoda Friedman gave them the exact same dance routine he had given Brittle in the original video (although, after several replays one was unable to find any similarity). The vocals were terrible and the bright red shiny suits...well!! During the performance the landlord of the Badger’s Snatch – Willy O’Dour – popped his head through the ballroom door and shouted through his hysterical laughter, ” The time I saw a pair of tits that red was when Fanny sunbathed topless and fell asleep in the sun for 5 hours in Benalmadena!” One thought the comment was a little crude, but on reflection chuckled at his comparison.
The dance routine was quite painful to watch, though it was nice to see the girl from the Zovirax adverts find some part time work, despite her cold sore flaring up again (but is a motorcycle helmet really an acceptable concealer?)
Anyhoo … the routine began and ended with the twins on, and grabbing hold of, one of those trolley-type-fancies made for bell ends … or is it bell boys? … well, both are equally applicable after that performance.
After Simon’s comments last week, Cannelloni had his work cut out for him and the song choice from Cheryl could not have been worse. It certainly didn’t help his “karaoke” image as one could imagine him standing in his front room with his friends lying drunk beside him, and him singing the words from his television screen. Still it was nice that the production team managed to replicate the sound of an in-home Karaoke machine for the occasion. Dannniiiii apparently saw a little of Will Young in him … but that’s really not the sort of thing we want to see on Saturday night television when there could be children watching.
Jamie Archer completely ruined the only song I have ever liked from Miss Tarty-pants, Christina Aguilera, despite attempting to heighten the sense of emotion by choosing a 12 place table cloth to hang out of his buttock pocket. As a result the CA CD (the anagram speaks volumes) was handed to Chu Me and one ordered him to shred it immediately. Why must everything the man sings be a tribute to Aerosmith?
Finally, Dolly Dagenham and what a performance! Who would have known there was a set of lungs in someone so scatter brained? Fabulous start, endurable middle and an end that nearly blew one’s tights off.
The results show arrived the following evening and Cheryl was to perform ‘live’. Enveloped in sell of clothes from 5-Star’s wardrobe, she took to the stage and screeched her little lungs out. Whether ‘live’, pre-recorded, a little of both (Down, Danyl!!) she certainly achieved the affect one had expected; indeed, one’s ears have only stopped bleeding this morning. One searched all available sources to find the telephone number one had to call to have her voted off but to no avail. Instead, one sent a quick email to the television company.
After the tortuous foreplay, the real agony followed. Whitney the Poo, complete with sequinned frock that had not had time to be taken up, precariously clattered down the stairs at the rear of the stage to sing her repetitive new release. A little dancing, a little strutting, dress straps exploding from the bodice, a little crack in her voice and it was over. Crusty got the impression that the production company were thinking the same as her, when one saw the dollar bills flying all over the stage; as if someone in authority had said, “just throw the fee at her and hopefully she’ll go home.” As delicious Dermott approached her she turned and took a step back as if to question who this person was that dared walk towards her (someone who has sustained a successful career, dear! Pull up a chair and take notes).
Then the results ... and Cannelloni was on his way back over the border; the twins had been saved again … oh joy! That aside one cannot understand why the gorgeous British public are putting the stunning Rachel in the bottom each week; a sentiment that was echoed in the follow up show when Holly Wobbley and guests were equally perplexed.
Friday, 16 October 2009
The Moon Strikes Back!
Internet news stories have revealed that a 4lb lump of metal, which smashed through the roof of a house in Hull was in fact space debris!!
The intergalactic object crashed into the loft of Peter and Mair Welton’s home and an immediate investigation was carried out by the RAF Flight Safety Branch; the item was thought to have fallen from an aircraft (note to self – have pilot check the bottom of the jet before next excursion). The RAF experts were later able to confirm it was ‘space debris’, however, it was unknown where the metal came from.
Let us look back over recent weeks, poppets! Let us look at certain events that have taken place! One is particularly thinking of the rather surprising actions taken by NASA in their ongoing investigation of the moon. Some weeks ago they fired a large rocket from Earth and sent it crashing into a rather plain and dreary section of the Moon’s surface, looking for water.
Imagine if you will, a family of Mooners sitting in their subterranean dwelling enjoying a family meal and the latest edition of Space Factor; suddenly a giant pointy projectile crashes through their roof, shattering their dining room table and blasting their fish supper, Dover solar, all over the walls. True, the attackers were kind enough to send along a follow up craft to vacuum up the mess, but wouldn’t you be furious?!
One would certainly be picking up the largest lump of metal, or some such fancy, one could find to propel it towards an equally plain and dreary part of the attacker's planet ... coincidentally as Mr Welton was looking for water in the upstairs bathroom.
A valuable lesson must be taken from this episode, poppets; though we may think we are masters of the universe (though, not looking quite as delicious as Dolph Lundgren in his skimpy trunks, body harness and cape) we are not! There may be others with equally short tempers and impatience watching from beyond the stars.
The intergalactic object crashed into the loft of Peter and Mair Welton’s home and an immediate investigation was carried out by the RAF Flight Safety Branch; the item was thought to have fallen from an aircraft (note to self – have pilot check the bottom of the jet before next excursion). The RAF experts were later able to confirm it was ‘space debris’, however, it was unknown where the metal came from.
Let us look back over recent weeks, poppets! Let us look at certain events that have taken place! One is particularly thinking of the rather surprising actions taken by NASA in their ongoing investigation of the moon. Some weeks ago they fired a large rocket from Earth and sent it crashing into a rather plain and dreary section of the Moon’s surface, looking for water.
Imagine if you will, a family of Mooners sitting in their subterranean dwelling enjoying a family meal and the latest edition of Space Factor; suddenly a giant pointy projectile crashes through their roof, shattering their dining room table and blasting their fish supper, Dover solar, all over the walls. True, the attackers were kind enough to send along a follow up craft to vacuum up the mess, but wouldn’t you be furious?!
One would certainly be picking up the largest lump of metal, or some such fancy, one could find to propel it towards an equally plain and dreary part of the attacker's planet ... coincidentally as Mr Welton was looking for water in the upstairs bathroom.
A valuable lesson must be taken from this episode, poppets; though we may think we are masters of the universe (though, not looking quite as delicious as Dolph Lundgren in his skimpy trunks, body harness and cape) we are not! There may be others with equally short tempers and impatience watching from beyond the stars.
Cheryl Cole Saves Family and Friends (but the audience may suffer!)
"No, dear! To your mouth" UK MSN has revealed that Cheryl y'nailed-it Cole will have no family or friends in the audience when she performs her new song on the X Factor's results show this weekend.
In actual fact, one suspects when she opens her mouth and the first note screeches to freedom she'll have very few others in the audience either - all she will hear is the clomping of hundreds of pairs of shoes and the distant banging of an emergency exit.
One prays Chu Me is able to run for the remote in sufficient time, or one doesn't know how one will react. Nevertheless, one has made some preparations by borrowing a pair of travel earplugs from a member of the household staff's bag to put in my pussy, Crotchet's ears (I'll pop them back in her bag when she's not looking ... she'll never know).
Anyhoo ... for those who haven't been in the slightest bit interested, Cheryl will be singing 'live' on Sunday's show (although we shall be the judge of that).
Apparently, the thought of performing 'live' in front of family and friends is just too nerve racking for our poor poppet, made worse by the knowledge that Whitney the Poo will also be performing on the show the same night. I wouldn't worry about her, dear, one has heard the latest offering and she sounds like a docker's daughter.
Incidentally, I heard a rumour in the village that Whitney is flying in specially. Really, dear, you mustn't feel you need to on our account!
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
X Factor 2009 - Week 1; The Competition is Afoot.
Well, the X Factor competition for 2009 has finally got under way; On Saturday 10th October the stage was set and was festooned with illuminata; lots of flashing lights and such fancy and the 12 finalists were, I’m quite sure, waiting nervously behind the scenes preparing themselves to come out and perform to the nation. Week one was evidently a cloaked homage to Robbie I’m-a-Cheeky-Chappy Williams and why not … he managed to turn up after all, so why not churn out a few of his ditties as if they were classics.
The four judges made a special effort for the first show, although one feels the ladies slightly over did things. Danniiiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard’s sticking) was wrapped in a relatively sobre number for her, though her hair seemed to possess a pair of handles for some reason; one certainly noticed more animation in the upper quadrant of her eyebrow expanse so perhaps these handles were a safety device should facial droopage occur; one quick hoist and normality would be restored.
Cheryl y’-nailed-it Cole decided on something gold with an opened umbrella merged into the skirtal section. At first, one thought she had raided the front lavatory at Crusty Hall - where one has an equally plastic doll dressed in something similar covering the spare roll of toilet paper - however, having sent Chu Me immediately to check, one found she must have actually bought it herself.
There were brief words uttered from the long running Creative Director of the show, Brian Friedman; one is rather mystified by this creative little poppet; with each new series the man looks more like the Star Wars character Yoda - particularly when dressed in a hoody and a pair of leg warmers.
Anyhoo … the finalists’ time had come.
First to take the stage, the ravishingly gorgeous Rachel Adedeji. Like a 21st Century Adeva she took to a Perspex-staired box in vertigolicious heels and belted out the Robbie Williams “classic” Let Me Entertain You and entertain us she did. A delightful performance with only one criticism from Simon Cowell; “Your makeup is horrible”. Constructive criticism indeed for such a talent show; one never knew the contestants had to have a year’s work experience on the makeup counter at Boots before auditioning.
Kandy Rain followed with Addicted to Love and one has to say, one has a bit of a soft spot for this spirited foursome. However, comments of rancid poison spouted forth from Danniiiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard’s sticking) and Cheryl y’nailed it Cole; “Y’ say yus are tryin t’ leeev y’ past b’hind yus- like - then y’s come oot heea dressin’- like - al prov-oc-a-tive-ly!” (one could almost see her little fingers counting the syllables under the table). One found it all quite ironic in a way; here we had two judges who had no talent but managed to look like strippers and then four actual strippers who managed to have talent … it really is quite ying and yang, is it not?
Never mind, as one sat back and lifted one's glass of gin from the bow-legged tallboy by one’s side it was time for the next act. This time Oily Mares, singing She’s the One; another ££Ching! for Mr. Williams. A very acceptable delivery, in his own style. He’s such a warm and friendly person, Robbie took to Oily immediately and a coffee was to be shared after the show (time to buy a new hat, me thinks!).
Cannelloni – our little persistent Scot made a valiant effort singing Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black but as he stood in front of the judges with the silly Bill-and-Ben-esque hat on his oversized cranium, one thought one was going to be sold a second hand car so lost one's interest.
Stacey Solomon did Dagenham proud and though she may be able to talk the hind legs off a donkey she still has an utterly fabulous voice despite singing a Coldplay song.
Miss Frank – three little poppets flung together in the name of creativity – were next with the Michael Jackson song Who’s loving You and were rather splendid. As he lay back in his chair, Simon was very rude and called the two taller ladies ‘bookends’; well, I suppose his experience of bookends would be infinite having spent so much time with Sinitta (she apparently has a big red GTO … quite frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me with that one!).
Jamie Archer performed adequately although one is tiring slightly of the rather long handkerchief hanging out of his back pocket.
Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels sang Cry Me A River. When one heard it one thought, “That sounds nothing like Dinah Washington!”, but Chu Me advised me that it was the Justin Timberlake song. Dear, sweet, gorgeous Lloyd was afraid about hitting the high notes but one thinks he managed quite admirably bearing in mind he’s at that age where the bean bags of youth will no doubt have started to drop in his downstairs area. North East intellectual Cheryl y’nailed-it Cole exclaimed over a screaming studio audience, “ Y’ ganna have a lot o’ girls cryin’ a lotta rivas owa yee” (well one suspects there will be an element of over moistness from fan's smitten apertures)
Lucie Jones – recently descended from the hills of Wales - sang a “great pop song” by Leona Lewis; in actual fact it was a mediocre pop song by one of Simon’s signings. Cheryl gave the benefit of her musical wisdom, “Y’ have t' be really brayuv t’ tackle Leona.” (Give Crusty a pair of rugby boots, dear and she’ll give it a try!). Needless to say, fabulous voice although the “great song” was slightly poo.
John & Edward provided an ideal opportunity for a visit to the lavatory. Really! The gorgeous Gok Wan can carry off a saggy crotched pair of trousers, but really on ones so young and annoying it will surely only lead to ASBOs.
The North East’s little Cherub, Joe McElderry, was sublime. Gorgeous teeth, delightfully attired, skin as soft as a velvet mitten and the effortless voice of an angel; quite the little stud-muffin who caused immensely pleasurably tingles in one’s downstairs area throughout his entire performance.
Danyl Johnson ended the show and was practically outed by Dannnniiiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard is sticking). This vile attack was following a story in the News of the World where Danyl had admitted his liked a munch of the heavenly man-biscuit as well a little lady-trifle. Well, he looks the type … with those smouldering looks and puppy eyes, he could take his pick, I’m sure.
Despite everyone thinking the Devil’s children would be voted off first, the British public voted off Kandy Rain; now, we have to endure the duo all over again next week.
To make matter worse, Delicious Dermott announced Cheryl will be singing live on week 2’s show (err, let’s wait and see, shall we?); Also, Whitney-the-Poo will be singing her latest offering… honestly, if the producers don't want one to watch, all they have to do is say!
Let the battle continue ...
The four judges made a special effort for the first show, although one feels the ladies slightly over did things. Danniiiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard’s sticking) was wrapped in a relatively sobre number for her, though her hair seemed to possess a pair of handles for some reason; one certainly noticed more animation in the upper quadrant of her eyebrow expanse so perhaps these handles were a safety device should facial droopage occur; one quick hoist and normality would be restored.
Cheryl y’-nailed-it Cole decided on something gold with an opened umbrella merged into the skirtal section. At first, one thought she had raided the front lavatory at Crusty Hall - where one has an equally plastic doll dressed in something similar covering the spare roll of toilet paper - however, having sent Chu Me immediately to check, one found she must have actually bought it herself.
There were brief words uttered from the long running Creative Director of the show, Brian Friedman; one is rather mystified by this creative little poppet; with each new series the man looks more like the Star Wars character Yoda - particularly when dressed in a hoody and a pair of leg warmers.
Anyhoo … the finalists’ time had come.
First to take the stage, the ravishingly gorgeous Rachel Adedeji. Like a 21st Century Adeva she took to a Perspex-staired box in vertigolicious heels and belted out the Robbie Williams “classic” Let Me Entertain You and entertain us she did. A delightful performance with only one criticism from Simon Cowell; “Your makeup is horrible”. Constructive criticism indeed for such a talent show; one never knew the contestants had to have a year’s work experience on the makeup counter at Boots before auditioning.
Kandy Rain followed with Addicted to Love and one has to say, one has a bit of a soft spot for this spirited foursome. However, comments of rancid poison spouted forth from Danniiiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard’s sticking) and Cheryl y’nailed it Cole; “Y’ say yus are tryin t’ leeev y’ past b’hind yus- like - then y’s come oot heea dressin’- like - al prov-oc-a-tive-ly!” (one could almost see her little fingers counting the syllables under the table). One found it all quite ironic in a way; here we had two judges who had no talent but managed to look like strippers and then four actual strippers who managed to have talent … it really is quite ying and yang, is it not?
Never mind, as one sat back and lifted one's glass of gin from the bow-legged tallboy by one’s side it was time for the next act. This time Oily Mares, singing She’s the One; another ££Ching! for Mr. Williams. A very acceptable delivery, in his own style. He’s such a warm and friendly person, Robbie took to Oily immediately and a coffee was to be shared after the show (time to buy a new hat, me thinks!).
Cannelloni – our little persistent Scot made a valiant effort singing Amy Winehouse’s Back to Black but as he stood in front of the judges with the silly Bill-and-Ben-esque hat on his oversized cranium, one thought one was going to be sold a second hand car so lost one's interest.
Stacey Solomon did Dagenham proud and though she may be able to talk the hind legs off a donkey she still has an utterly fabulous voice despite singing a Coldplay song.
Miss Frank – three little poppets flung together in the name of creativity – were next with the Michael Jackson song Who’s loving You and were rather splendid. As he lay back in his chair, Simon was very rude and called the two taller ladies ‘bookends’; well, I suppose his experience of bookends would be infinite having spent so much time with Sinitta (she apparently has a big red GTO … quite frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me with that one!).
Jamie Archer performed adequately although one is tiring slightly of the rather long handkerchief hanging out of his back pocket.
Lloyd no-relation-to-Paul Daniels sang Cry Me A River. When one heard it one thought, “That sounds nothing like Dinah Washington!”, but Chu Me advised me that it was the Justin Timberlake song. Dear, sweet, gorgeous Lloyd was afraid about hitting the high notes but one thinks he managed quite admirably bearing in mind he’s at that age where the bean bags of youth will no doubt have started to drop in his downstairs area. North East intellectual Cheryl y’nailed-it Cole exclaimed over a screaming studio audience, “ Y’ ganna have a lot o’ girls cryin’ a lotta rivas owa yee” (well one suspects there will be an element of over moistness from fan's smitten apertures)
Lucie Jones – recently descended from the hills of Wales - sang a “great pop song” by Leona Lewis; in actual fact it was a mediocre pop song by one of Simon’s signings. Cheryl gave the benefit of her musical wisdom, “Y’ have t' be really brayuv t’ tackle Leona.” (Give Crusty a pair of rugby boots, dear and she’ll give it a try!). Needless to say, fabulous voice although the “great song” was slightly poo.
John & Edward provided an ideal opportunity for a visit to the lavatory. Really! The gorgeous Gok Wan can carry off a saggy crotched pair of trousers, but really on ones so young and annoying it will surely only lead to ASBOs.
The North East’s little Cherub, Joe McElderry, was sublime. Gorgeous teeth, delightfully attired, skin as soft as a velvet mitten and the effortless voice of an angel; quite the little stud-muffin who caused immensely pleasurably tingles in one’s downstairs area throughout his entire performance.
Danyl Johnson ended the show and was practically outed by Dannnniiiiii Minge (sorry my keyboard is sticking). This vile attack was following a story in the News of the World where Danyl had admitted his liked a munch of the heavenly man-biscuit as well a little lady-trifle. Well, he looks the type … with those smouldering looks and puppy eyes, he could take his pick, I’m sure.
Despite everyone thinking the Devil’s children would be voted off first, the British public voted off Kandy Rain; now, we have to endure the duo all over again next week.
To make matter worse, Delicious Dermott announced Cheryl will be singing live on week 2’s show (err, let’s wait and see, shall we?); Also, Whitney-the-Poo will be singing her latest offering… honestly, if the producers don't want one to watch, all they have to do is say!
Let the battle continue ...
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