I was never really interested in the X factor or Pop Idol after the audition rounds when you get all the nutters turning up, but I did think the producers aimed a little higher that the old 1970s talent show "Opportunity Knocks" presented by Hughie Green, a man so cheesy he makes David Dickinson look like a cheese free zone. OK provided a cringe factor higher than any other show ever including I Love Lucy. Talented performers with great potential and wannabees who would realistically never progress beyong journeyman were asked to compete against cutesy pie infants singing songs about their mother or worse, groups of child-dancers from some stage school or other, dancing out the story of Chicken Little.

Throw in a few pensioners playing the spoons and you had a show of such monumental awfulness it ran at peaktime on Saturdays for about fifteen years. Through all this time the cjhild - dancers, buoyed up by the granny factor in the vote won time after time and were never heard of again. Opportunity Knocks had a rival, New Faces, which introduced some real talent to TV including the late Marti Cane. But the cheese factor proved too much and despite featuring a one - legged acrobat (honestly, they did) in its final run, New Faces was seen off.

Me and the ex - factor coexisted peacefully. Until effing Chico came along. Now the object of the X factor is to find a new singing sensation who has that indefinable star quality that will propel them into the nations' hearts. Chico is a male stripper whose only talent is to rip his clothes of while tunelessly croaking a Ricky Martin song. This man has previously been Mr. Muscle Mania and (allegedly) an erotic dancer in Raymond's Revue and yet, mentored by Sharon Osbourne who is obviously vying with Hughie Green as the celebrity most blissfully unaware of their own cringe factor, Chico and his shirt ripping antics - later superseded by inclusion in the act of child -dancers that was a bit too Michael-Jacksonesque for comfort, has seen off some people who, while not earthshatteringly brilliant were at least easy on the eye and ear.

So what we have to do, all of us now - no backsliding, is decide who Simon Cowell least wants to win and vote for them in the final. My recommendation is Journey South who started off with the bands but now have their very own category, the bland section. Surely an act so uninspiring they would be destined to follow Steve Brookstein (who?) into instant oblivion having failed to repay the record company's investment.

So remember to VOTE, VOTE, VOTE - and I mean that most sincerely friends.

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Celebrity Menu

The latest batch of non - celebrities got out of the jungle last night with Carol Thatcher emerging as the winner.

Yes, the daughter of the old Iron Lady herself has won the hearts of the great British public (or at least those of them who could be bothered to vote) and become queen of the jungle.

But what swung the pendulum in favour of Carol?

Sure she went a long way towards healing some of the still festering wounds her Ma. inflicted on British society when she performed well in test that required her to eat shit (or something very close), live animals and kangaroo's bollocks.

She also displayed truly British sang - froid when allowing rats, snakes and poisonous toads to crawl over her. But the deciding factor was the body functions. Not only did our fave Daughter of Medusa have a nocturnal waz on camera for the benefit of the viewing figures, whipping down her guzzies and performing in the middle of the camp while the others, including Saint Jimmy Osmond, slept peacefully; a few days later she also, without embarrassment, lifted the cheek of her arse macho man style and ripped off a noisy fart.

The women of the Thatcher clan must be genetically programmed to be first at something. Mum was first woman to lead a western nation, daughter is now and for evermore the first woman to drop her guts on live television.

The fad for "reality TV is fading but lets hope there is one more season of this show, because anyone who wants to do well will now have to top "Thatch."

Better still how about a spin - off in which Thatch, Johnny Vegas, Gordon Ramsey and Tracey Emin have to share a flat for a month?

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A big welcome to new Conservative leader David Cameron, if only because an old Etonian is bound to be an absolute gift for satirists. Mr Cameron talks of caring Conservatism and of being in touch with the voters but if you asked him "how should one ensure savings are secure" would he not reply " Ay, thet is say simple, jast leave one's funds in the famlay trast."

But it is comforting in a way to know that the Conservatives are once more led by a wealthy and privileged patrician. There is a kind of warm feeling coming out of Westminster, generated by the knowledge that traditional values are not lost. Why, before you know it we will be having a Labour leader who used to work in a coal mine...

Conservative Contender

Or actually, as this was a libel case rather than a criminal case, we are not allowed to allege that Robbie is Gay. Now call me dim if you like, but unless someone is really getting desperate to get their name in the papers why would they spend as much money as Robbie and his management have on trying to look and act gay.

(Actually Robbie, if you want to catch the Gay audience try copying Will Young whose behaviour is well "out" but he behaves with dignity. Or if you must prance about like a 1950's screaming queen at least do it with a sense of irony.)

A lot of shrinks and other talking heads have been spouting about what makes Robbie tick recently. Its his abysmally low self esteem apparently, he desperately wants everyone to like him. Perhaps someone should tell him to stop bering a twat then.

Of course Robbie has good cause to feel insecure about his career, after all he would not have a career but for the millions spent by the record company (EMI - the death wish Corporation) on hyping everything he does.

Robbie' recent exploits have been getting so bizarre they are bordering on Michael Jackson - esque.

So Robbie, you can get all the court judgements you want. We migh believe you are a hetrosexual regular guy when you stop telling us how big your knob is and how many girlies you have shagged. Straight ment stop acting like that when they are around 25.
(OK, I know... There are a lot of latent homosexuals in the world.)

But even when you convince us you are straight Robbie, you will still be a talentless dancer from a boy band.

We did not need the papers to tell us hospital food is crap.

When I was in hospital a few years ago they had a very creative approach to getting patients to eat. Refuse the pigswill put in front of you and they would call in the shrinks.

In one instance, when I had refused several meals in a week, the shick came around and asked me if I liked eating. "Oh yes, I love good food I replied."

"Then why" said the shrink, "are you behaving like someone with an eating disorder and refusing meals?" I replied, very calmly and slowly "because you would have to have an eating disorder to put that shit in your mouth." (Actually I used to get family members to bring stuff in. Marks and Spencers single portions are very palatable - but of course not everyone was in that position.)

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On seeing the schedule of new film releases for this week I had a panic attack. "Oh no," I screamed, "some idiot has made a film about that noisy transsexual from Big Brother, the one with the stupendously unreal breasts. But the reality was worse, I had read Nadia for Narnia; someone has made a film about those stupendously boring children's books that a certain type of adult was always very keen to force on us in the 1950s and 60s.

The story of The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe had great appeal as an indoctrination tool because it was claimed to be an allegory for the Jesus myth (where does the wardrobe come into it? you might well ask. Well Jesus was a carpenter. Oh yes, they were originally a trio before he left to form his own band. Rumour has it he was jealous of Richard's somewhat suspect relationship with Karen.) You see that Christian allegory is all rubbish. LW&W is a nazi allegory. Think about it, were the Pevensie family black? No, they were Middle class English protestants. Why was the messiah character portrayed as a Lion? Well everybody knows Lions are not Jewish. And the plot? After a spot of unrest among the plebs the Lion is killed which throws the Kingdom of Narnia into despair. When the Lion is then resurrected everyone realises it is folly to question authority and they all start toeing the line with unquestioning obedience. C.S. Lewis was a white supremacist from a privileged background. In his version of Christianity, Jesus was an Anglo - Saxon apologist for the ruling classes. Do you want to expose your kids to this stuff?

Fortunately my family were left wing bohemians and kept me well away from such stuff. I was brought up on The Wind In The Willows, in which of course the creatures of the riverbank form a revolutionary militia the resist the oppressive capitalism of the weasels. The old feudal Lord is not stood against a wall and shot, but is allowed to live out his days peacefully so long as he gives up his anti-social activities. After that I moved on to Animal Farm.

Of course, given the plague of religiosity gripping America any film that can claim a twisted Christian theme will do well. Look how they flocked to see "Passion of The Christ" directed by Mel Gibson (5'3") which was not only historically inaccurate but the dialogue was incomprehensible.

What I want to know is when will Hollywood make a film of The Ragged Trousered philanthropists? When I hear about that I will know we are turning a corner.

For the latest on the mounting tension between Jehovah and the Gods of the Celtic Pantheon check out God's Blog.

God's Blog

Went Christmas (oops, sorry - I mean "Wintermas," got to be P.C. - shopping today. Every shop I went in the chip and pin system was not running. Now I recall earlier this year getting lots of mail from my bank about how great the chip and pin system was and yet, far from having teething probles like any other baby, it seems to have been born without a head.

Or......could it be....... no, of course not, those nice people at the banks can be trusted can't they......but just imagine if they were a buch of crooks, would it be possible thay lied to us about the security advantages of chip and pin, maybe the system actually makes fraud easier. So maybe the systems are down because it is the only way of stopping people getting ripped off this Christmas. But of course I'm a long standing hater of Christmas, Banks, Government and Blue Peter (just thought I would throw that in.) Maybe I am getting paranoid. Perhaps my travails in the shopping centre were just a multiple case of "Computer says noooo."

SERIOUSLY: Chip and pin does make more difficult the kind of fraud that occous when criminals "skim" you card and use the details to order goods by phone but of course with no visual check, it helps enormously those fraudsters you can get your card details and your pin number (easier than you think) and just wander into shops and buy stuff.

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Forgive me for feeling like a smug bastard but once again I have been proved years ahead of the mainstream in my thinking. A friend remind me of a conversation we had years ago when, after the unfortunate death of John Smith we were discussing the prospects of the new Labour Leader.

Amid much wailing and gnashing of teeth we held up silver crucifixes, chewed garlic and recited protection spells. " Oh Lords of the four winds, Oh Great Mother Goddess of All Things, Oh Guardians of Sidhe, Save us from ............. TORY BOY.

Yes, the new patron of the peoples' party looked for all the world like those frightful Hooray Henries who throughout the eighties had brayed obnoxious phrases like "it's impossible to be over-privileged, one is either privileged or one is a prole"; and; "proles ask how can we move to where there is work? Simple, just call Harrods and they take care of everything."

And of course Blair proved to be just such a creature, albeit with better presentation skills. So deft in fact were his presentation skills that he managed to fool the electorate into voting for him in three General Elections.

But now even the most loyal labourite, David Blunkett, has had enough of the leader's constant sucking up to the rich and powerful, e.g. "'ere Mr Murdoch sir, don't you be beating that starving, wheelchair bound, educationally disadvantaged blind fellow with that awful heavy stick sir. Such onerous tasks are beneath your eminent self sir, your highnessness. Let New Labour do it for you. Ho yes sir, the likes of us sir, we hought to know our place and halways be willing to do the dirty work for you rich people what are clearly the beloved of God sir."

The loyal (well while he had his trousers on at least) Blunkett is said to be organising opposition within the Labour ranks to Blair's plan to sell of education provision to rich American corporations who will indoctrinate our kids with religious bigotry and demand fat fees in return for that dubious service.

But Blair need not worry, for who is promising support for the Education Bill? Its the Eton Rifles led by New Improved Tory Boy. David Cameron has pledged to support Blair "when he is right" i.e. whenever he comes up with a plan to hand money so painfully extracted from the British middle and working classes and hand it over to fat rich fascists who have promised to do absolutely nothing in return.

EDUCATION MENU

Goodbye Charlie Kennedy

The Claymores are out for poor Charlie (Chuckie-bum) Kennedy. Surely we will soon have two new party leaders in British politics and will be counting down to the demise of The Great Satan Blair himself.

Charlie K is a nice guy, a brilliant panellist on Have I Got News For You and the sort of convivial bloke nobody would mind having a drink - or numerous drinks if the press are to be believed - with. But as the potential leader of a great nation Chuckie Bum has never quite been able to hack it.

Maybe this lack of credibility is due to the fact that he is a Liberal - Democrat, hardly a confidence inspiring name as it suggests they can't make up their minds what they are, or perhaps it has something to do with his more than passing resemblance to the child actor who plays Victoria Sugden in T.V. soap Emmerdale.

The biggest part of the problem though is that Charlie has red hair. Can you think of a single charismatic leader since Erik the Red (no, not Cantona but a relative of Thorfinn Skullsplitter and Ragnar the Bloody) who had a carroty top. Let's face it, if Charlie Kennedy had asked the 600 men of the Light Brigade to follow him into the Valley of Death they would have replied "Ours but to do or die? Eff off, you're a ginge."

CHECK OUT There Are Many Dieases at Headbutt blog

So the day of the final is upon us and are we all gripping the edge of our seats as we wait, agog, to learn who will win the X-Factor, be awarded a "multi-million" pound recoding contracts and propelled on a trajectory that will take them beyond the orbit of mere mortals and into the stratosphere of superstardom. I think not, I just wantewd to show that I can do hyperbole even better than the X - Factor publicists.

"That's fine Ian," you all shout, "but can you do litotes."

"AHEM.....lalalalalaaaaaa." (just warming up)

"Last year's winner Steve Brookstein, you may remember, went on to display the gobsmacking depths of his mediocrity and was quickly dropped by his record company."

YEEEES, RESULT! Poor Steve, but he never had it did he.

The mediocrity of the year's winner is already assure because the talented and incredibly good looking Maria was eliminated a while ago and the good looking and incredibly talented Brenda bowed out last week, leaving us with a Robbie (Zero Talent) Williasms - wannabee Shayne; a boy bland, Journey South and nice guy Andy who is talented but in an International Cabaret Circuit kind of way.

Amazingly (honestly, you will be absolutely a-fucking-mazed to learn this)this leaves each of the celebrity no-mark mentor/judges with a contestant each in the final. Now who would ever have thought it would turn out like that.

Let's face it, we are lucky not to have Chico in there, although I suspect Mr. Muscle Mania 1999 will be the real winner if he reinvents himself as a cross between Black Lace and The Chuckle Brothers.

Mariah Carey would have us believe that she is a regular sort of girl who does not mind getting her hands dirty and not the egomaniacal diva some sections of the media suggest.

So what does a regular sort of girl do when she goes into Starbucks? Well if she is in any way at all regular she does not take her cup-bearer along.

You might think that cup bearing is a profession that died out with the Olympian Gods of Ancient Greece. Gods are too important to lift cups to their own lips of course, so they had Hebe* who had previously been a herder of Peacocks, another profession for which there is not much call down at the local job - centre, and Ganymede, a beautiful young man, carried off by Zeus to replace Hebe as tastes in Olympia became more sophisticated (or less Arcadian and more Greek.)

A picture in this weekends' press shows Ms. Carey attended by her cup bearer who solicitously holds a polystyrene cup while La Donna Mariah sucks on a plastic straw.

Well if Mariah has a professional cup bearer you can bet Madonna has one. Or maybe that is just the title The Queen Of Wrinkly Rock gives the pretty boy who follows her around out of regard for Guy Ritchie's feelings.

One wonders what will be the next ego-inflating fad among the celeb culture? Who will be first to emulate King Henry VIII and appoint a Groom Of The Stool (or in the language of the street, a Royal Arse Wiper. I have it on good authority that the position was created before Henry got too fat to wipe. Presumably he was too busy sacking monasteries and topping his wives to bother with mundane tasks.

If Posh was too proud to push will she also be too weird to wipe. Will J-Lo appoint a cludgie assistant to work alongside the eyebrow assistant, the bikini line assistant and the moustache assistant (oops - that's another "cease and desist" on the way.)

Would I apply for the job of Mariah's arse wiper? Certainly not.

Now if it was Kate Winslet...

*Hebe trebled up as Goddess of Youth. In an excellent TV adaptation of Mary Wesley's novel "Herding Peacocks" she was portrayed by Serena Scott- Thomas (a relative of Kristen and just as lovely) who provided the most erotic TV scene ever when she posed in front of a full length mirror, naked except for a red hat and matching stiletto heeled shoes, thus providing both front and back view.

A new hazard threatens the peace and security of the Nimby's who so recently fled the social chaos of the urban jungle to seek a better quality of life in the country. These people are now clamouring to get back into loft apartments cocooned safely in the regeneration areas of the city centres as nature red in tooth and claw conspires to drive them to new levels of paranoia. The nimbys are under threat as gangs of Badgers roam the fields and hedgerows threatening to spread T.B. and Bird Flu among dogs, cats, ornamental poultry, other domestic animals and garden gnomes. The Badgers, mostly young and predominantly male, feel marginalised and alienated by the way their environment has been bulldozed to make way for Persimmon Homes Developments.

"I feel some sympathy for them in a way" said Chief Inspector Eric Hunt of the Merchantbankershire police, even a one bedroomed starter hole round here can cost close to quarter of a million. What chance has a local Badger of ever getting on the mortgage ladder?" Investment Bankers Rupert and Jacintha Offcomer told Boggart Blog that the police are hostile to people like themselves because they are newcomers.

"Our cat Raffles is was traumatised when a young Badger in a hoodie stopped her and asked if she was sorted for TB and Bird Flu." she said Jacintha (32) and looking radiant in a scoop necked T-shirt from D&G.

Rupert (37) then added "that is just the kind of thing we moved out here to get away from as his wife broke down in tears

. "It's a difficult situation" said Eric Hunt, "We are trying to work with the leaders of the Badger community but each time we arrest a renegade Badger it just attracts new recruits for the gangs. Some people say we should get tough, but if you send an unruly young Badger to prison, a few months later you release a fully trained criminal into the community. No, I think we should persevere with Anti Social Badger Orders and ask the rich, privileged, egomaniacal cu..... country émigrés to be a little more tolerant. After all, the Badgers were here before the Bankers.

A team of scientists have found that men who are good at dancing have the most sex appeal.

That scientists can be so arse - brained as to carry out such a pointless survey should astound nobody. That scientists can draw such an arse - brained conclusion makes one wonder if the Intelligent Design people might be onto something after all, because the study was inspired by one of Darwin's theories.

Now men of my generation, who have always known that dancing is something you would not be seen dead doing unless you are trying to cop off will understand that trying to acquire skills at dancing is deeply suspect behaviour in a man (too narcissistic to be homosexual even.)

According to Prof. William Brown of Rutgers University, New Jersey, dancing ability is one of the most important qualities women seek in potential mates. Prof. Brown does not offer any further elaboration so I must refer to the UK's most learned academic forum, the Lounge Bar at the Albion for an explanation.

The "Golden Chamber" has concluded after many years of study and debate that women are naturally predisposed to pick the most useless males on the basis that total wankers are more likely to need "mothering." Yes, women may complain of the general total-tosserishness of their mates but if they will insist on mating with guys who are more interested in "perfecting their moves" than learning how to pout a new washer on a tap then who is to blame when the kitchen floor is flooded again.

Prof. Brown further demonstrates how long it is since any of his team visited Planet Reality by suggesting his survey proves women are more choosy in selecting partners.

CALUMNY!

Men take time, we look for many qualities; warm, outgoing personality, modest tastes in drinks and gifts, attractive hair, smart clothes, sexy eyes, CSL, firm arse, pert breasts, and of course, IS SHE UP FOR IT? And for this they brand us commitmentphobes. On the other hand I remember saying to a female member of my team once "Tracey, this is the third time in four months he's sent you to work with black eyes, why do you stay," to which Tracey replied "he's a great dancer but he gets so wound up before competitions." Let's face it, some women are just too easy to impress. A man can be a total bastard, so long as he is good at dancing he's certain to score.

But we all know (even women who marry such guys) that good dancers posses in abundance all the qualities women claim to hate. What kind of a man is willing to make a total twat of himself in front of all his mates by getting out on a dance floor and poncing about like Ricky Gervais on Meth?

Oh well, we can take comfort in the fact that the survey was carried out in New Jersey.

Hi there cobbers, heh heh,

The picture we're gonna paint today tells the story of an old Queen who used to come and visit us in the Australian Outback sometimes and how her son Cheerful Charlie tried to get rid of her because he wanted to be King. Well wouldn't you?

Just paint all this kinda yellowy - brown (slosh slosh), and a few little splashes of green for the scrubby little bushes and trees, yeah, and a big red mound on the horizon, that's Ayres Rock and you're starting to get an idea of what the outback is like, heh heh.

Well what happened was like this, one day Cheerful Charlie and his shiela, Camilla were taking a walk by the Billabong with his boys, Willie and Harry.... and the old Queens pet dingo named James Whittaker who was panting along behind them land he was making a noise something like hoooh-ah-ah-aaaah-ah-ah-hooh.

Yeah heh-heh-heh, just paint a bit of greeny blue in there for the water of the Billabong (slosh slosh) and a few little dabs of white for the fluffy clouds reflected on the water.

Anyway, they were walking by the Billabong and Camilla says, "its time you got a proper job Charlie, you spend too much time talking to trees - and we'd better put an old Eucalyptus tree in here (slosh slosh) coz that's Charlie's best mate, and a bit of a broken old fence there, just to add atmosphere.

There. D'y know what it is yet?

So while Charlie is thinking of an excuse to get Camilla off his case one of the boys has brought along his new Boomerang that he got for Christmas, and so as there's just the four of them around and a bunch of Aborigines in the far distance he speaks up, "Ay say Pater, ay'm absoluteleh dying tay tray may new boomerang. If I thray it ite here will it come back?" And the voice of one of the Abo's comes across the Outback, "If it hit any of us it bloody will mate." Little bit of black hair on the Abo's there, and a couple of thin lines for their ceremonial spears, coz they are about to perform a traditional dance. And that gives Charlie an idea. (slosh slosh) heh-heh-heh.

Four kinda knobbly little legs in there, and a fancy hat, all gold and purple with some spots of green, red and blue for emeralds, rubies and sapphires coz its a crown, yeah, and some little brown corks hanging off the rim. D'y know what it is yet.

And when Charlie has thought through his idea he says to Camilla and the boys, "You know, Mama likes watching natives dancing, how about we kidnap her and send her out here to live with the Abo's. No one will ever find her and I can be Prince Regent, a bit of swirly grey there, like an old lady's hair, a nose, a pair of glasses, and another face here, kind of droopy expression on it and y'see its the Queen sitting on her throne in the outback watching the Abo's dancing and Charlie, Camilla and the boys and they're singing...