Monday, 30 November 2009

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

Wednesday, 25 November 2009

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.

Tuesday, 24 November 2009

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.

Sunday, 22 November 2009

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).

Saturday, 21 November 2009

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!

Saturday, 14 November 2009

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.

Monday, 9 November 2009

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!

Friday, 6 November 2009

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.

Thursday, 5 November 2009

Rosemary Shrager Goes Too Far.

One has always been a great supporter of the wonderful array of cookery programmes we enjoy on our televisions and the very channels that specialise in such culinary education. Instructing us all how to eat well and healthily is a must.

Over the years one has adored the gorgeous Jeni Barnett on Good Food Live; one's temperature soars at the very sight of the delicious Matt Tebbutt and the bundle of Yorkshire butchness James Martin and as for Delia Smith ... well, the woman is simply an idolised goddess in oven mitts and a pinny.

But it seems that televisual cooking classes are now penetrating the world of advertising and one wonders if this is not going a little too far.

For example, does one really need to see Rosemary Shrager's breasts - in their crispy skin - being pulled apart only to see runny cream cheese oozing out and dripping all over her work surfaces?

One thinks not!

Crusty and the Safari That Never Was.

Crusty always finds that our glorious nation’s makers of television programmes can be highly misleading when it comes to titles they give their containers of creativity.

For example, one was watching a Channel 4 programme the other evening and was completely and utterly bored with it. One perused the listings on one’s Sky guide and saw that the programme following the drivel on screen was entitled Shooting Cheryl Cole.

Well, there was a surge of excitement that oscillated through one’s skeletal structure: one utilised the Sky Plus pause button and sprang, like a gazelle, up the grand staircase to one’s dressing room. Once there, one pulled out a rather fetching kaki number from the walk-in wardrobe – last used on a Kenyan safari in 2001 – donned a matching kaki hat with corks hanging from the rim and one’s pair of handmade snakeskin cowboy boots. Dressed for the imminent hunt, one headed off back to the Drawing Room.

Chu Me had read one’s mind and prepared a pitcher of Gin and obtained one’s paint-ball gun (one always has it at hand to enthuse the household staff in their duties) and set it at the side of one’s chaise and he had stood two Yucca plants next to the screen to give a more authentic safari feel. Crotchet, my pussy, also appeared dressed for the occasion with his leopard skin collar. Purring contentedly he nuzzled down on one’s lap and we were set for our adventure.

Imagine one’s mammoth disappointment when one released the pause facility and discovered that the program was actually about her shooting a music video for her new and rather piss-poor single.

Crusty’s jaw dropped, as did one’s shoulders; Chu Me gave a tut, took the weapon back to the gun cupboard, disappointedly dragging his feet as he went and Crotchet padded out of the room with his head and tail lowered – indeed, one swears he let out a little pump of disgust as he turned left at the doorway and headed into the main hall.

Crusty felt betrayed and immediately sent an email of complaint to the company in question to change the title for future broadcasts to Watching Cheryl Cole Make A Music Video (But If You Have Something More Interesting To Do, You’re Not Missing Much).

One shall advise you, poppets, when one receives a reply