I tried, but I can't take anymore X Factor
Every year I try and watch X Factor, and while it usually starts well, a few episodes in I start thinking what materials would be best to build a flammable effigy of Simon Cowell.
This year, I was so hypnotised my Cheryl's eye make-up and Malibu Barbie outfits that I actually made it past the live auditions to what they call the 'Six Chair Challenge'.
"This is worse than hell", says one contestant of the six chair challenge, which for those who aren't familiar is humiliating torture. And it's not just hell for the trembling messes mangling Whitney Houston on stage, but for the innocent public at home who thought they were tuning in for a big of light entertainment on a Saturday night.
Reading the life history of Pitt the Younger would make for a more whimsical weekend evening's recreation than this.
The X Factor is not light entertainment, watching polite people making souffles in a tent in the English countryside is light entertainment. This is like watching a barbaric animal fight in the Coliseum with the Wembley crowd of Wotsit-eating Daily Mail readers taking on the role of the blood-thirsty Romans. What bugs me more is how Little Lord Cowell and his leaches justify their treatment of insecure teenagers and fame-obsessed twenty-somethings as 'just the way the music industry is'. A rather specious argument since Cowell came up with idea for X Factor and is responsible for every flaccid and oversung Christmas single since.
If he hates crushing dreams then why not change the format and make a show that fosters talent rather than telling foetuses that they will never make it because they have no personality. This his coming from a hermaphrodite turbo-creep in his late 50s who is famous for pulling his pants up too high and ogling make up artists half his age. Give me someone baking lion's faces out of cheese straws over that any day.