I started this blogging thing over a year ago now. Well, actually, it’s been about a year and a half. I created my second WordPress site at the start of the summer last year. I didn’t really know why, all I knew was that I wanted to write; to get my thoughts down on something a little more concrete, than having them buzzing about and taking up valuable, and somewhat limited, space in my cranial cavity.

Insert your cheeky comments questioning the existence of anything between my ears here, now, please.

It became a dialogue of my trip to Italy last year; a record of my days activities in Rome and Venice. We did so much in a day, and I took many photo’s of crumbling bits of rock, other not so ancient buildings, statues, pizza’s and my BFF, that I really needed the time to sit each night and reflect on what I’d done each day; to try and cement it in my memories for as long as I could, because I was loving every minute of my time over there.

Shortly after returning home however, I soon realised that I had lost my inspiration: Italy. When I wasn’t wandering the narrow streets of Venice with Hannah, or enjoying a day  at Guardaland with her Italian family from Milan, I really had very little to talk about…

Then the unthinkable happened; my hero died. I came home from work, sat down, and spilled a few thousand words into my laptop faster than I’d ever completed a university assignment, and I’m not lying when I say that I spent far more time working and researching that than I’d spent on any similar report in the past.

After that, it became a dialogue of mine; a place for me to sit alone in my room with some music, perhaps a glass of wine or two, and clatter away at the keyboard on my Macbook to see what my fingers could produce tonight. Would it be worth publishing? Or would it be condemned to a lifetime of sitting in draft, with the author too ashamed to go back and read it for fear of realising just how bad it actually was?

Following my Steve jobs post however, which earned my blog the highest number views it’s ever had in it’s existence, I was stumped. It was the same worry faced by every artist out there: “How do I follow that?” 

It really did receive a great accolade from friends and family, which was of great comfort to me, not being the kind of person who can expose themselves and bear their soul to a room full of people. Granted, I’m not the type to hold back, particularly if something is affecting me negatively, but I always remain aware of the power others have to tear you down; to hurt you unnecessarily. It’s something I’m all to familiar with unfortunately, and it somewhat hinders my need to put myself out there, or try something new every once in a while.

My second post was formed, a pearl from a particularly irksome grain of sand: The X Factor.

Human Beings love routine. We are incapable of being truly random, and we crave regularity. Yes, there are some who would tell you how they despise the humdrum; that they could never live with a “9 to 5” routine. We all know deep down, no matter what we tell others, that we enjoy the security it brings us. Heath Ledger, as the Joker, once said that:

“Nobody panics, so long as everything goes according to plan. Even if the plan is horrifying…introduce a little anarchy, upset the established order, and everything becomes chaos.”


Just incase you’d forgotten that face. A better example of one ‘only a mother would love’ you will not find. Anywhere. Not even mine…

Ever year, we sit down to watch Simon Cowell and his motley crew of ‘music industry experts’ find the next great UK singing talent, from anyone who feels the need to stand up in front of a packed stadium and show us what they’ve got. Be it good, extremely dire, or just plain average.

We love it. It’s a well known fact that the Brits love nothing more than a TV talent competition. We’ve been doing it for years, since ‘Opportunity Knocks’ from the 50’s to ‘New Faces’ in the 1980’s (responsible for Lenny Henry and Les Dennis) and through to the selection we have today. It’s been a staple of Saturday night entertainment for decades, all because we’re so dry we love nothing more than to sit and criticise those who get up in front of the cameras, regardless of talent. Secretly knowing we’d never be able to do any better but hurling insults at the TV or hiding behind cushions (for the really bad ones) all the same.

We forget one thing however. One thing that doesn’t enter the comfort of our living rooms, but the one thing that decides the continued production of our favourite talent shows: the ratings. TV shows thrive on them. Without good ratings, the show isn’t worth making, and it will quickly be canned in favour of something guaranteed to tickle the target audience the right way to generate them, and some publicity along the way.

Of late, this is all the current apple of the UK’s eye has been about. Week after week, year after year, we’ve watched some real talent get knocked out of that competition, because of some moron (or pair of morons, not naming any names) who gets kept in for their ‘entertainment value.’

Be serious for a minute. What was entertaining about Wagner, or Jedward? In all honesty?

Just over a year ago, I sat down and wrote something very similar, in which I attempted to link a day in my life where I found myself trapped inside my bedroom after breaking the inside door-handle (there was no one else in the house to let me out from the other side, which led to a very dramatic rescue mission which had me climbing out of my bedroom window, down a ladder, being held by my Grandma, who I’d had to call to come and let me out), blowing up yet another iron and totally smashing my iPhone (the most traumatic experience of them all really), with how I deserved a recording contract from ITV, because I felt that was a bad enough sob story. You can find it here.

That’s all we care about now; the acts which are going to make us laugh, cringe or cry the hardest. We’ve long since forgotten the true value of the show, in our callous need to elevate ourselves above those, to satisfy the various needs we have.

It’s sad.

Last night, however, the show reached a new low: openly demonstrating what a fix it really is.

No, sorry, let me re-phrase that, Louis Walsh simply highlighted to the entire of the UK that he really is a complete and utter moron. And it has nothing to do with the fact he’s Irish.

I created this Meme on my lunch break today. I’m a little proud of it, it must be said.

Introducing deadlock on that show was the worst thing ITV did. As was bringing Louis back the same year they sacked him. He’s an absolute moron; he’s never won the show, why does he keep being brought back year after year?

His latest fallacy was ousting Carolynne from the show in favour of the lesser talented Rylan. I’m going to say it: because he’s the token gay in the competition. I have absolutely no issue with that, but it’s just a further reminder that Britain, in it’s attempts to be upright and ‘British’ about everything, is letting it’s supposed core values get in the way of what’s fair. Sure, we need to show some diversity, but what place does it have when that gets in the way of pure talent? Surely talent is in place regardless of someones race or sexuality?

I personally will be boycotting the X Factor from now on. I say this every year; that it irritates me beyond belief, and that I refuse to watch it in support of everything it stands for. It’s no longer the talent search that it once was, and that saddens me. It’s about fights between the judges over each other’s interpretations of ‘rock week,’ or dramatic final-two sing-off’s between the act that shouldn’t be there and the act that should.

Louis Walsh should be shot. Fact. For failing to make the correct decision in the interests of talent; for failing to fulfil his position in the show as a judge, and for year after year failing to prove how he actually got there in the first place.

No one cares about Boyzone anymore Louis. That was the 90’s. Only one group could manage a come-back the way they did, just ask Gary; he did it, after all…

I do worry however. As I mentioned before, humans love nothing more than a routine to get them through their time on this rock. We all do, and I know I’m going to face some counter arguments to that effect. I myself can’t survive without structure; my mind needs it. With free time, I do nothing. In fact, I get more done in a hurried 5 minutes before an appointment than I do on a lazy Saturday afternoon with a list left on the hall table of things I’ve been asked to accomplish in the day, as a minimum…

Without this expectation of television entertainment every year that brings us into the festive season with a guaranteed theme tune, where would we end up? I’m not going to go as far as to say we’d all hit the bottle or loose all direction in our lives, but we’d certainly run out of things to talk about at the coffee stand in the office; as we spend time with friends on a Saturday evening with a take-away or as we relax after dinner on a Sunday night.


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