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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jedward To Skydive Into Bush?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Anthropological Wonderment of Masterchef

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

behind my back"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

X Factor (Week 7) - Joe McElderry Goes Supernova

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Willy! Language!” Fanny shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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