Talk-Talk seems this weekend to have dropped its relentless ramming down our throats of its name at the start and end of every ad break. I suppose the hacking scandal has thrown up one very small plus point, then. Sadly, each ad break seemed a tad longer, though.
The grueling ordeal over two nights has been more demanding than I ever thought possible. I am of course referring to the pathetic airing by ITV of 'Judges Houses', the stage of the X-Factor that used to involve little more than some singing followed by tears on a sofa. This year, someone thought up a new format that simply dragged the hell out of the whole ordeal.
Two-and-a-half-cuntin-hours on Saturday was a marathon, riddled with advert breaks. However, the more nauseating factor was the unwarranted delay in getting to the fucking result, or as Wally Murs kept telling us, the "Final Free".
The useless lead up to Flack forcing answers out of the judges included a totally pointless ten-second countdown which achieved no more than a waste of a further ten seconds!
Perhaps the most awful aspect of the palaver relating to the first two categories was the abuse meted out to the four who were left to vie for the final place in the live shows. It was expected of them that they demean themselves awfully, and plead live on stage for a chance to prove themselves, work hard, suck the odd nob and no doubt lick a clit if that was the price of being granted the last spot. Truly cringe-worthy television, and totally disgraceful.
Then we got to the end of the Saturday show, with Nick Grimbore required to do no more than announce the "Final Free". BUT . . . it was apparently necessary to carry over this task to the Sunday show. Sadly, just like on Mastermind, when Magnus Magnusson used to repeat the whole fucking question when he was interrupted, the recaps, breaks and padding meant we had to suffer for another half an hour! What the fuck Nick was doing putting through Mason Noise is beyond me. There is foul play at work here, after the wanker seemed to dispose of the attitude he displayed in the six-chair challenge, and then sang for Nick in a wimpy voice, dribbling humbleness in the post warble interview.
At least the four didn't have to plead, and we were allowed to move on to Rita. Simon Cowell has proven to everyone that he is a dick, while Cheryl Fandango Vaseline was less than useless in all respects. That gaunt and gormless look, as she turns her head like a barn owl, is one that confirms a lack of any clue. If she could just desist from talking altogether, then the world would be a better place.
Mark Ronson displayed an inability to start or finish any word properly, and slur the middle bit. As for the unfortunate expression on Rita's helper (Meghan Trainor) it was hard to work out whether someone has slapped the crap out of her with a fish, or the sneer is a phenomenon that travels with her everywhere. Back in the studio, after a whole load of bollocks, Rita was given another ten seconds (after her nauseating speech) before she picked the last of her three. "Let's spare a fought . . . blah blah blah," said Wally Murs.
I cannot see the point of taking the contestants all over the place to single for a minute each, and then drag them all back to Wembley to get the verdicts. Worse, we (the viewers) have to have the piss taken out of us with dire television, cliches, grammatical howlers and dumbed-down dross.
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