Thank f*** for the return of the X Factor. With politicians on holiday and the world drifting towards war, economic meltdown and environmental catastrophe it promised to be a bleak period for satirical bloggers. And to be honest, taking the piss out of the Olympic Games was getting a bit tedious. No challenge you see, it’s too easy.
Then the X Factor burst back onto out screens, sans Shaton, I mean Sharon, but with a new judge who does not want to say anything nasty (coz that’s Simon’s job) about the dickheads who turn up to audition.
The first part of the show was great, the Manchester audition was wall to wall nutters. Well that’s Manchester for you, and we wouldn’t want it any other way.
Just as I was beginning to think the whole show was devoted to dingbats Rachel arrived. Gorgeous Rachel Nixon, pretty and bubbly, slim and shapely, woke the show up. Never mind that she pronounces “nothing as “nuffink” after all it’s The X Factor.
When Rachel announced she is 26 everyone was a bit gobsmacked. When she said she’d had five children, the eldest aged thirteen, everyone was very gobsmacked. When she opened her mouth and sand everyone was totally gobsmacked.
Win or lose in The X Factor Rachel could have a glittering showbiz career as a singer or presenter ahead. She just needs to understand The K Factor. If a girl wants to get on in life she must learn to keep her knickers on.
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