X Factor Live Shows Week 1

Yes, it's that time of year again. The nights are drawing in, you can finally wear a onesie and you can read a blog that isn't updated regularly enough. 
I had spent the weekend in Oxford with my friends celebrating 25 years of friendship. It was lovely but a lot of alcohol was taken. Saturday's X Factor was therefore watched with my friend Julie on Sunday afternoon when we were in recovery. Hangovers may have influenced some of our opinions. 
So with the return of Dermot comes the return of Dermot's dance. I think I am meant to like this more than I do. That said it's Dermot. Let the boy dance. 
Nicole seems to be dressed as Wonder Woman but other than the outfits are disappointingly tame. I miss the days of Rita Ora wearing an oversize suit with one boob cut out. Made me feel alive. The theme tonight is 'Express Yourself' which means (as usual) the contestants sing whatever they want. Sharon seems proud that the finalists are from all over the UK. The rest of us know that this means that they'll be an appalling group from Scotland who stay in to the final due to the whole nation voting for them just because they're Scottish. 
Oh and Brooks Way aren't appearing tonight because of circumstances. 
First up is '5 After Midnight' 
They instantly annoy me because there's only three of them. Their VT reveals that dancing makes them happy. Good. 
They start from the back of the studio where they are pretending to DJ. They also start in a key not normal heard in everyday life, but they are so free spirited and carried away on their love of dance that things like tunes, hitting notes and having a stupid band name don't matter. They do a lot of creepy smiling at each other. This is meant to convey friendship. It does in a Disney children's programme, we're paid to like each other type way. I also couldn't care less if they're friends. Just sing in tune. There's a dance break. They love it. I don't. Julie's prediction 'Someone will say "What a way to start the show"' 
She's not wrong. For some reason the judges love it. Perhaps they were listening to something else. Simon says it sounds 'like a record'. Perhaps he was listening to that whilst we sat through a deeply mediocre version of 'Can't Stop the Feeling'.
Next is Sam Lavery.
Sam is the one that Simon made remove all her make up. This is because Simon said it didn't express who she really was. That's right. A decision she made about how she wants to look was considered unauthentic. Luckily Simon was there to tell her how she really wanted to look. She looks 'real' now that Simon has told her how she really feels. She's singing 'Impossible'. It's fine. The good news is that she's sixteen so it's a good opportunity for Louis to get obsessed by her age and keep telling us all how old she is. Nicole comments that she is like Evanescence What a compliment. I personally would rather be compared to 'Len' or 'Hepburn'. Those classic bands. 
Saara A is next. Why she has to be A I don't know. There are no other Saara's in the competition. Sharon clearly doesn't know who she is and also thinks that she's from Norway when she is in fact from Finland. Saara's dream is to be a Disney Princess. Grow Up. She's singing 'Let it Go' but in a Gothic manner. It's very, very Eurovision. This is not a compliment. She's trying to be edgy and sexy whilst singing a song from a Disney film. Visually she reminds me of someone from Emmerdale. No one specific just someone with the general look of an Emmerdale actress. But dressed as an evil panto Queen. Again all the judges like it. 

Ryan Lawrie is next. He's Scottish and a wildcard. He's singing 'Perfect' by One Direction. He is also putting far too much emotion in to it. Ryan love, you're singing a throw away pop song, not 'Empty Chairs at Empty Tables'. I was distracted during this as I thought there was a man in the background doing weird hand gestures. He was actually playing the guitar but I had failed to see the instrument. I think Ryan mucks up the end of the song but no one else seems to notice. Given that I can't see musical instruments I am not going to argue my case on this one. My cat licked his bum throughout this song. I am not that flexible but this also reflects my feelings. 
Gifty Louise is up next. For her VT she is made to dress up in a coat made of dead mammoth and look pleased. I have absolutely no idea what she is singing but she looks like a pop star. She could be the Sunday night guest star, they also sing songs I have never heard of but do it well. I thought she was singing 'That's my Goal'. Which I assumed was based on the Shane Ward classic. Turns out it's 'That's my Girl'. By someone. 

I just laughed at a Talk Talk advert. I am hungover. 

Relley C appears next which makes Sharon do a Birmingham accent. She's singing 'Shackles' as apparently a twenty year old middle of the road pop hit is how she 'Expresses herself'. She raps in the middle of it whilst her backing dancers bend on one knee. This is street. I am hip to the trends of today. I thought it looked like a supply teacher proving she was hip at the end of term show. I am guessing the standing ovation she got means I am wrong.

Matt Terry appears. Full disclosure I thought Ryan Lawrie was him. He's singing 'You Don't Own Me'. A song I have only heard through talent shows. I still feel it sounds like a mid musical number which gives people an opportunity to nip to the bogs. He really, really looks like Louis Tomlinson. His thing is hitting the high notes. All songs will be structured around this ability and the group song will have a middle eight where he will come to the front and hit a very high note. Trust me. It's the future. 'Old Man River' will be interesting. 

Now Freddy Parker. He doesn't suit his hair colour. He also likes dogs. 
The song that was originally chosen doesn't adequately 'Express himself' so Nicole is going to choose one that expresses him better. She's changed it to 'Killing me Softly'. Which apparently is more him. It is fantastically boring, even though they're choreographed him getting up from the piano for the woahs. On the plus side I sorted out my bin during this. Simon knows it was shit. His face can not lie. So far I'm predicting him and Finland are in trouble. 
Bradley and Octavio appear except now they are called 'Bratavio' or Bravissimo as Julie insists they are called. I prefer to call them BO. I loathe them. Of course Louis loves them. Simon predicts 'It's going to be awful'. Simon is right. They are singing 'Boom Boom Boom, I want you in my room' which then segues in to 'Barbie Girl'. This could well 'Express themselves'. They sing everything together slightly out of tune whilst zebras move around in the background. 
Dog Shit try hards. 
Emily has to follow that. I feel I could follow that, don't think you'll get an easy ride Emily. She has just turned 18 and in an ironic turn of events she is singing 'Never getting older'. I believe this song only has one note. She is also performing in some kind of polythene tube that slowly fills with gas. This is not her style. She knows it, we know it yet we all sit there politely watching it. Simon liked it or so he says. 
Oh grief it's Honey G. Imagine living with her. Imagine it. I have new found respect for Bravissimo. I am not good with embarrassment. I just want her to stand a bit closer to the flames whilst she wears her nylon tracksuit. She's singing her own version of 'California' she's reached the Chico stage of the competition very quickly. I am not sure they are professional dancers on stage with her. Louis tells her that 'we need someone like you in X Factor'. Why's that Louis? Please explain your work. He also predicts that 'Tupac will be happy'. 'He's dead' Sharon tells him 'And he'll be turning in his grave' Nicole adds. Simon liked it. Simon I expected more from you. He also says that 'Only Sharon Osbourne could do this'. Anyone who wants to watch the world burn could do this. My only hope is that at some point she sings 'Honey to the Bee' by Billie Piper but changes it to 'Honey to the G'. 
My predictions: Finland and Freddie are the bottom two and Bravissimo are in the final 3 to make us think there's a hope they will go.

X Factor Results Show Week 1

Sunday night is results night. James Arthur will be performing  - a mere month ago this would have sounded like a sarcastic comment but he's now number 1. The judges come out and I admire how Nicole and Sharon like each other. Then I get angry with myself - I shouldn't have an opinion on this. They are women at work, it doesn't matter if they like each other or not. 
GROUP SONG. Singing Sax. A song that annoys me as it's about the love of Saxophone but the brass bit is played on trumpets. I think they turn Honey G's mic off for the singing. Finland is once again dressed as a panto villain. Clearly her look now. Matt takes the opportunity to do some squats and 5 am improvise their choreography. It's not where their giftings lie. 
There's a recap. I only watched the show an hour ago so I read the paper. 
James Arthur seems like a nice chap. He has very good skin. He also raises awareness for World Mental Health Day . Well done James. 
I'd forgotten how little content there is in the results show. 
In no particular order: Relley C, 5 after Midnight. Matt, Sam, Ryan, Emily, Honey G and Gifty are safe. 
My predictions are spot on so far. This would seem more impressive if I hadn't posted these at the same time after the results. Viewers now have to give a lifeline to the third act to save them. Results revealed after the break. Be still my beating heart. 
Lifeline goes to Freddie. This heralds the end of my boasting about my predictions. Please can Bravissimo go? 
Saara sings first. Dressed as a warrior on holiday she sings 'Alive' by Sia. It's very operatic. she can sing though. Bravissimo can't. Not that this means they are going. 
Louis promises that Bravissimo will sing their hearts out. Sharon: "Really?" 
I love Sharon sometimes. 

The blonde one of Bravissimo is in a mood. He clearly can't believe he's in this position. We haven't recognised his talent. They sing 'The Only Way is Up'. Blonde is clearly weighed down by his trainers. He has to do a weird crouchy walk. And when he sings 'Up' he can only get one leg an inch off the ground. When they are finished Dermot laughs. He tries to cover it and fails. 
Louis saves Bravissimo. This is because he's their mentor. This is also because he thought it was good. 
Sharon saves Finland. Despite thinking she's from Norway. 
Nicole saves Finland. 
Simon is going to send it to deadlock isn't he? 
But no he sees sense, says 'Nice try guys' and sends them home. 
Thank heavens for that. Quiff takes it well, they wisely don't let Blonde talk. He's livid. They'll be on Celebrity Big Brother in a year. Blonde finally speaks, he's happy people understood his vision. I'm not sure you're as complicated as you think love. 
Now to chose a theme for next week. They spin a wheel and it's 'Louis loves'. Wouldn't it be an amazing coincidence if 'Fright Night' was the same week as Hallo'ween. 

Berlin and Pedro

I went to Berlin last week. My word it's a lovely city. We got a deal in the BA sale. I suggest that you do to. It was excellent. 
My other suggestion would be that you get a better map than we did. We got one that wasn't to scale. It also hadn't put things exactly where they were, just where they looked prettier on the map. So when we decided to go to the Jewish Museum we looked at the map and saw that we could go by two routes. Both around the same distance. This was a lie. It took us about an hour and a half to walk to the museum. It took us fifteen minutes to walk home. On the plus side we did 35,000 steps that day. 
On the down side we decided to do a walking tour the next day. It was very interesting and we learnt and saw a lot. The problem was the 35,000 step count from the previous day meant that standing still was agony. To his credit the tour guide didn't seem phased by the three people doing weird moonwalking and step aerobic routines at the back of his group but it certainly doesn't concentrate the mind. 

It was on our marathon walk to the Jewish museum that a rather odd incident happened. This isn't linked to Berlin and didn't really affect the holiday in anyway, it just, well, it just pissed me off. We were on a main street and a man asked me to take his photo. I took his phone, took a distinctly mediocre photo and handed it back to him. He shook my hand, shook my friends hands. He introduced himself as Pedro from Brazil. We all smiled. Then he asked if he could have a photo with me. Odd but yeah. He gives the phone to my friend and then grabs me. He then removes my bag and hands it to my friend. By this point I am pretty over the experience and just want to go. I sort of thought he was a pick pocket. I have no idea why I didn't just walk off (I am slightly annoyed with myself and then annoyed at myself for being annoyed with myself). Photo over we have another round of hand shaking. Then he kisses me on the cheek, then the other cheek. I back off and just as my mates step forward he goes in for the full pasionate snog and I get a mouthful of Pedro's tongue. 

I wish I'd kneed him in the nuts. Instead I walked off. And this is why I am annoyed. 
1. Why the hell does he think it's OK to ram his tongue in to strangers mouths. 
2. Why did I feel stupid afterwards? 
3. Why did I feel that I should have handled the situation better?
4. Why didn't I walk off when I started to feel uncomfortable? 
5. Why did I worry more about being polite than feeling comfortable? 
6. Why have four of these points been about what I did wrong rather than just the one point of 'Fuck off Pedro you massive twat'? 

Anyway. Go to Berlin. If you meet Pedro offer to take his photo and then walk off with his phone. And for heavens sake delete the photo of me from it. 
I apologise for the random placement of photos. The bear isn't Pedro. 

The House. A short story

She always said that the house chose her.

Although she lingered in front of the estate agents for months, humming and hawing over the cost, the number of bedrooms, the location; the moment she stepped over the threshold the house was sold.

The walls whispered her name. And very few people ever said her name. Days, weeks could pass without her being addressed but the house knew her name and used it from the moment they met.

She moved in six weeks later. According to the experts that was unusually fast but to her it felt like an eternity. A return to being nameless and unacknowledged.  The house greeted her as she heaved her boxes in to the lounge. Said her name appreciatively as she knocked down cobwebs and cleaned the windows to let the light in.  That first night she sat amongst the boxes and treated herself to a glass of wine.

“Should I paint the walls blue?” she asked the house.

Silence.

“Green?” she offered.

Silence. She thought harder. Tried to match the mood of the house.

“Yellow?” she asked eventually.

“Yes.” Replied the house and breathed her name .

She felt pleased to have made the right choice. She knew she wouldn’t have acted without the house agreeing.

Each day she went to work and went back to being nothing. A girl with no name. Part of the furniture. Bland. Ignored. Nameless. It both bothered her and didn’t bother her.

She wasn’t bothered as she now had something who knew and appreciated her. If she counted the number of times she was ignored during the day she knew that she would be doubly acknowledged when she got home. But at the same time she was bothered. She had become accustomed to being noticed by something. Mattering. She had become used to hearing her name said aloud. Her name savoured by someone, said with love, lulling her to sleep.

She lavished the house with love. It started as reciprocation, she wanted to thank the house for seeing her. For wanting her. For choosing her. Then it became a need. She wanted more. She wasn’t even sure what more there could be, what more could a house give her? But she felt there was something else so she pushed, doing more and more in case she could earn it. She treated the house, kept an eye out for things she thought it would like, wanting it’s approval. Wanting all it had to give. So she dusted and polished and sewed and swept.

She rushed home from work and polished brass. She spent lunchtimes pouring over colour charts. She laid tile samples on the floor and felt calm as the house whispered to her.

Finally she was ready for her final act of love. She felt the house deserved fine wooden floors. The house agreed with her. Actually the house seemed very keen on this idea. It was the happiest she had heard it. She rented a sander and struggled home on the bus with it. She didn’t feel like an inconvenience or stupid as, as usual, she was ignored by the people around. They simply moved around her to stand on the bus and squeezed past her to get off at their stop. She didn’t even muster an ‘excuse me’. People looked blankly forward as she bounced the sander down the steps and no one batted an eyelid as she yanked the power chord free in the nick of time as the bus pulled away from the kerb.

The house welcomed her home and she began to rip up the carpets. The house cheered her on. She ripped up the tired hallway carpet to whoops of happiness. The living room carpet was removed to shouts of joy. By the time she had been working for a few hours the house was positively animated. It shouted, yelled, almost screamed her name. The name that had remained unsaid for so long echoed from the walls.

Things reached a crescendo as she tore up the carpet in the dining room. 

‘I know’, she soothed the house. ‘Think how smart you will be with your new floors.’

The house shouted until the floorboards began to vibrate with the sound. She put her hand on the floor to try and calm the house and to steady herself. As she wobbled forward her fingertips brushed against a ridge.

‘Yes.’ The house said.

She pulled on the board and the house roared it’s approval. She lifted and there beneath the floor sat a man on a low stool. He looked at her and she looked back. Her heart swelled with love.

“You’ve been calling for me” she breathed.

“You’re not who I thought you were.” Replied the man who was no longer a house.

It turns out that Sarah is a very common name. 

#amwriting

It's the hashtag that's sweeping the nation. 

It's not. But I like it. 

Mainly because it tends to be one person boasting about their word count and a thousand others telling you what they are doing other than writing. 
Today I am writing in a coffee shop so I don't get distracted. It's a lovely independent, local coffee shop. Big tables, great coffee, I will do well here. Unfortunately someone is being interviewed for a job at the next table and it's horribly fascinating. So far the interviewer has banged on about himself for twenty minutes and recommended that the girl he's interviewing doesn't give up the job she currently has. I am trying to concentrate on what I am doing but I keep getting drawn in (he's just used the word 'bosch' - and not in relation to a washing machine), it's dawning on me that I am just transcribing what they are saying. She wants to do marketing. She feels that where her skills lie. His reply: "well that's really the one area we don't need help in."

Oh thank goodness. They're finished. The bad news is that I now need something else to distract me. Or I could do some work. 
Although this blog post may not show it the writing is going quite well. I got an agent at the beginning of the year which was brilliant. Not because I am now writing all the time and wafting around in velvet carrying a quill but because it was confirmation that I wasn't wasting my time and should give up, go back to work full time and stop being a deluded idiot. Now when I am sat in coffee shops eavesdropping on people I am doing it because I #amwriting not #unemployed. Although to be fair the end result is pretty similar. 
Ooh two old women have just come in . One of them went in to to London last night...back in a bit. 

By the way the weird photos are what comes up if you google #amwriting There was also someone's wedding photo. I don't know why. 

Cat Lady

I have a foster cat. His name is Sox which I don't like so I am tying to convince him he's called Sir Bernard Sox. He's not keen. I am also quite hopelessly in love with him. 
I've always liked cats but never had one. When I was growing up, my brother was/is allergic to animal fur so we never had any animals in the house and then since I've lived on my own I've worked unpredictable hours and it didn't seem fair to leave a cat on it's own for ages. Now however I am writer/freelancer/layabout and so I thought the time could be right. 
I decided to foster through the RSPCA as I like the idea of giving a cat a nice home for a bit before they go to a permanent home. Or falling in love with a cat and praying they don't get adopted so I can keep him. 
Sox was a sad cat when he arrived. He'd been a lap cat and then his owner died and he ended up in a shelter where he proceeded to have a breakdown. He arrived about a month ago and set about proving how many places there are to hide in a one bedroom house. 
I went out for a few drinks the evening he arrived. When I came back he was gone. I couldn't find him anywhere. In my slightly addled state I at first thought he'd shot out when I'd opened the front door so I put my coat on and went to look for him. No luck. When I came back I still couldn't find him so I assumed that I had imagined getting a cat and went to bed. On Sunday I traced him to under the bath (which I had no idea you could get to). Working on the assumption that if he got in he could get out, I left some food in the bathroom and left him to it. By lunchtime I had visions of a dead cat under the bath so took the side off the bath and there he was staring at me like I was an idiot. Which is fair. 
I left him to it. Only to discover he'd gone again. 
By Wednesday morning there was still no sight or sound of him. I began to compose messages to the RSPCA to let them know that I had killed a cat in three days. I went to work and the cavalry arrived in the form of my friend Adrian who took the kickboards of the kitchen and found him. I was sent photos of the cat finally eating and seeing daylight. I went home ready to spoil him. Only to find he'd gone again. 
It turns out he was throwing himself down a six inch gap by the side of the fridge and then getting stuck under it. The joys of a suicidal cat. 
Three weeks later and he's like a different cat. He follows me around, he sleeps with me (in a strictly platonic sense) and likes to be no more than a few inches from me. Unless I have visitors. If it's Adrian, I am dead to him and they rejoice in one another. If it's anyone else, he buggers off and hides. 
I have fully embraced being a cat lady. I know that I am mere weeks from bottling my own piss and wearing felt hats. I am also aware that this is probably not reciprocated. I know that if I fell down the stairs and died he would eat me. But I know that I would be fine with that, I'd just be happy he was eating. 

Binge Watching

I was on the radio the other day. I hope you like how casually I dropped that in. I'll also casually drop this link here so you can listen again if you so wish.  http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p03lzcyb 
Anyway, in-between making sparkling comments about subjects I knew next to nothing about, but not letting that stop me, we discussed (off air and eventually on air) binge watching. The presenter is addicted to 'House of Cards', someone else was addicted to 'Orange is the New Black', some threw in how they had watched all of 'Mad Men' in a week or couldn't get enough of 'Breaking Bad'. I suspect them of humble bragging. These are the programmes that we should be watching. The critically acclaimed, Emmy nominated dramas that are discussed at dinner parties. Trying to pass them off as a guilty pleasure doesn't wash with me. Incidentally unless your 'guilty pleasure' is strangling kittens then your pleasure isn't guilty at all. It's just something you enjoy. Own it. 
I am binge watching at the lower end of the scale. Until you've sat and watched (and on occasion recorded) 'Tia and Tamera' then you know nothing Jon Snow. I believe that's from 'Game of Thrones', I wouldn't know, I've not watched it. I prefer to my porn without back story and dragons. Plus I've been too busy watching 'Guiliana and Bill'. 
'Say Yes to the Dress' is my particular jam at the moment. In it brides go to a enormous bridal store, run by people who are too invested in their clients lives, to choose a dress for their ' One Special Day'. Even those who are on their 4th or 5th marriage still describe it as their 'One Special Day' so you are not expected to be able to count to enjoy this programme so I am right in their demographic. For reasons unknown the Brides also take along their entire families, in laws, friends and a few randoms they've met along the way. At least one of these people must not want to be there and be very vocal about it. Two family members must tell you that you look fat in everything you try on and there should be a grandmother there who only likes dresses with a high neck and Queen Anne sleeves. Each bride wants something unique that represents her as a person. They all leave with variations on the same dress. Except when someone does choose something unique and they go away with a monstrosity that the shop has been trying to get rid off since 1982. 

It is possible to lose whole days of your life to watching this. Especially when you discover that there is a bridesmaid addition, where the rule is that one bridesmaid is hated by all the others, including the bride. There also has to be a sassy, single sister who's main aim is to get her tits out in her dress and refuses to wear anything that thwarts her in this purpose. 
Let's just say I got to the point where I could recognise episodes from the EPG synopsis. 'Today's bride considers herself a 'little bit country' but does her Pastor Mother have other plans?' 
In an attempt to wean myself from this I started watching 'Something Borrowed, Something New'. This is where brides have to decide whether they are going to wear a revamped version of their Mother's wedding dress or buy a new dress. The best case scenario is that they end up with two wearable dresses. The normal scenario is that the Mother's dress is hacked to pieces leaving her in tears whilst the bride decides to wear a dress that hasn't been cobbled together out of yellowing lace and enormous shoulder pads. I actually had to stop watching this when there was a bride who spent the whole episode saying how tiny she was. 'Oh I'm so petite, I'm so petite'. As if she went home and slept in a matchbox covered by a hanky. Her Mother's dress was too small on her. I cheered. 

Most recently I have become obsessed by 'The People vs OJ Simpson'. Sadly I can't binge watch and have to watch one episode a week. It's like being back in the stone age. 
I don't really remember the OJ Simpson case. I was fourteen when it all happened and British (still am!) so I had no idea who he was. Watching this programme, good grief, it's insane. As is John Travolta's face. It's like he melted and then tried to recreate his face out of play doh and dog hair. The other revelation is David Schwimmer playing Ross   Robert Kardashian. If this is an accurate portrayal then he was in love with OJ Simpson and spent his days disco dancing with 'Juice' as he insists on calling him. Occasionally he'll stop by and see his family and give them pieces of advice like 'Fame isn't everything'. I think we know how that worked out. 

Now I know my viewing habits aren't great, but they are enjoyable. Being able to name every winner of America's Next Top Model isn't a transferable skill but I wouldn't imagine being able to make crystal meth from watching Breaking Bad is that useful either. 
Actually that's crap, one of those things is definitely more profitable than the other.