Last 10

Now they sprinkle in the boys, like showering pellets of sheep shit onto a dodgy pizza. The boys offer us some lad who appears to consist solely of a large set of teeth, an idiot in a grey suit and a fatty who looks like Dougal from Magic Roundabout if he really let himself go.


This week Melinda was early, which I feel is all wrong. I felt like I was being rushed straight to the sex, when I needed some candles, some soft music, some petals on my pillow. Where's the romance? The anticipation? What happened to the old-fashioned woo? I felt a bit used afterwards, especially when Dougal came on.

Then came some bird who sat on a stool, forgot her words but who I'd definitely like to take out to tea, especially if she promised never to sing. And then a succession of short boys doing weak impressions of Timberlake.

Then Lakisha looking luscious in a sort of sugary white wedding dress. I just want to be hugged against her ample breasts, is that so much to ask? But I know she'd take no nonsense, and give me one of those side-to-side head movements if I tried anything on, and probably a really cutting put down about the size of my manhood.

I still can't decide between Lakisha and Melinda, but for now it's OK, I can have them both. But time is running out, and in the end I believe in monogamy.

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Then some foxy tart stands up to sing and it's like havving your teeth pulled out with dessert spoons.

The camera pans to her glossy-haired Stepford Wife of a Mum, with her cruel and steely eyes, her thin lips and her palpable, simmering suburban ambition.

It's good vs evil this is.

American Idol. Again.

Yeah well at least this week I did go out to the pub first before finally tuning in. I went with friends too. Nice ones. Including Michael, who I have a sort of George Costanza man-crush going on with. He's so funny! I find myself laughing too hard at his jokes and too long, far, far into someone else's next sentence. Next stop: offering to make him his sandwiches.

But back to brass tacks.

Lakisha wore this hideous yet beautiful, ridiculous yet brilliant orange thing. She screams magnificent defiance. Then she does the singing thing, and you can relax because you know your ears are not about to be raped by a series of nasty shrill ear paedophiles. Then we meet her Grandma ("Grandma, we goin on a train"), who was predictably zesty and full of life. Known as Ruth Morris. She came along with her Zimmer and her dance moves, and it was good to see her.

Then Melinda. I usually prefer to have more space between my two girls to give me more time to revel in the contrasts with the dross, but there you go. This week was like first being bathed in asp's milk by (let's say) some Swedish virgins, then vigorously dried off by a set of hairy Dutchmen with enormous slabs of crumbly dry dog shit for towels. Great to begin with, but you still end up feeling dirty and used.

Melinda has this quiet dignity about her. This unassuming humanity. Oh, and this enormous, embarrassing, unquenchable, heartbreaking talent.

I'll be quiet now.

Lakisha must win

And so what if I did catch up with American Idol on a Friday night? So what? Does that make me a bad person? Some kind of loser?

Yes?

Well that's fair enough then, you make a good point.

But my new favourite for the competition is of course Lakisha. Last night she was so much better than everyone else that I want her to be my new Mummy. Second favourite is the fabulously named Melinda Doolittle . She sang Since you been gone and was nearly as good.

In fact, if either Lakisha or Melinda don't win I am going to make my feelings known in the traditional manner by parading nude through Roman Road market whilst dancing to the tune of You'll never walk alone.

Dirty Secret

I am 35 years old and I absolutely love American Idol.

*Gets coat*