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!