This evening sees the end, at least for another 9 months, of the terror that is the X-Factor. And thank heaven for that. So it’s not my honour, but perhaps my relief to announce the winner here and now, live on my blog so you can all get out and put a bet on to help top up your Christmas fund and not have to waste another two hours of your life sat in front of the telly. You won’t get that time back you know. Having said that the odds will be awful, so save your cash. Without further ado…
IT’S TIME…..
TO FACE…..
THE MUSIC!!
Really? Must we?… It’s like a sticking plaster on a hairy leg. Rip it off quick and the pain is harsh, but at least it’s short. In first place…. Simon “flat top blockhead high trousered v-neck t-shirted” Cowell.
You’ve got to hand it to him. This bloke is supposed to find new musical talent and get them noticed. That’s his job. What he’s done is turn his job into a TV show that makes millions.
Instead of him shuffling around the pubs and clubs of britain listening to acts in the hope of finding the next ‘big thing’ he’s convinced the acts to come to him. He’s let ITV film the entire process and persuaded the public that it’s not him deciding who is best, but them. Of course, if the public decide whose a good act, he has an instant popular artist before they’ve recorded a single track, or even signed a deal. The public are even paying to make the decision. Not only that but all the advertising for his new musical talent has been taken care of during the 3 month selection process. He’s now getting paid twice (at least) for just doing his job. Why don’t we all do this?
Well, the short answer is because it wouldn’t make very good television. But the long answer is, most of it’s already been done.
Take the two estate agents (Kirsty Conservative & Phil Tallchap) from ‘Location, location, location’ This is only ‘good’ (to use the term loosely) television because as a nation of nosey sods we get to look around other peoples houses, but again they are only doing their job of buying and selling houses.
There are countless (because I really can’t be arsed to count them all) TV chefs who instead of cooking food in restaurants, cook food on TV because the cameras are in their restaurants who are also busy getting paid twice. And with every TV series a chef does, a cookbook is sure to follow.
The book of the film of the t-shirt of the ashtray, of idea someone scratched on the back of an envelope while doing their day job and not actually working. In fact daytime TV seems to exist for these people along with Quincy (M.E.) and yet more Midsummer Murders. I know this because I looked at the schedules earlier in the week when writing about the revolting students… Sorry, I mean that the students that were revolting… Erm… Oh you know what I mean.
David Orange Dickinson the antiques dealer, more estate agents in ‘Homes under the hammer’ and a professional bear baiter – oops, I mean social worker, known as Jeremy Kyle. Its never ending, but the evil that is Cowell is most certainly thier king.
How do we get rid of him? We can’t vote him off. Or can we? There’s an Internet campaign to get “The Bird” (Have you heard the word about the bird?) to number one in the charts for Christmas so that Simon’s choice doesn’t. Well that must say something to the TV companies about how we feel about him?

The other things you should do… Dont vote on the show, never buy any music by any artist appearing on the show, or better yet, just stop watching. I know it’s difficult because we’re all so damn nosey, but you won’t die and you might actually learn something about real music. The next big problem is America. I’m sure I got this from wikileaks…

Just thank god we don’t live in the USA where the poor population are going to have the same… (I wanted to say television, but that would be unfair to John Logi Baird) …marketing machine foisted upon them. I’m off for Christmas lunch with me gran and the rest of the Wiltshire clan.
Enjoy your foggy Sunday and don’t watch the XFactor. Switch over and watch…. Oh god…. Really??? Strictly ???
Switch off the TV and go to the pub to drown your sorrows.


This post originally appeared here: Posterous

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