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.