One of the highlights of the year has begun for the Ladyfriend and I. As the seasons begin to bump into one another, like two bobbing boats in a harbour, as Summer gently gives way to autumn, Saturday night tv gets good.
Ofcourse I say that with my tongue firmly wedged into my cheek. We all know that the only thing truly worth watching on a Saturday night is an ambulance which has turned up a few doors down the street (this happened this weekend by the way - I was up and down like a bride's nightie)
Saturday nights are now X Factor nights. There is nothing more entertaining than watching common people trying to make their dream come true. The first episode was tv heaven. A big ginger girl (when I say big - I mean big) was humiliated beyond all realms of decency. It was magic. She failed the xfactor audition and wept inconsolably whilst clutching a picture of two children which I presumed to be hers. She was afterall 18 and if they weren't hers she was leaving it a bit late.
Her family pleaded on their knees for the judges to accept her on their fast track to super stardom. They were denied. There were tears in our house - tears of joy.
It really is the best tv programme, well it is whilst it's still at the audition stage. The ladyfriend and I rush home from the high street, pop the chops under a low light and switch on to see Cowell et al sort the Wheat from the Chav.
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