D’ya hear yer man

True confession

I’ve a confession to make. I cried during X Factor on Saturday night.

What happened was I got up to turn off the TV and stubbed my toe on the TV cabinet.

C’mon, you didn’t seriously think prime time ITV’s answer to panning for gold in a sewer had me in tears.

My true confession is that I watched an entire episode of the show on Saturday. I was asked by my pregnant wife if I would give it a try, and who am I to refuse such a request from a lady in swollen state?

To give X Factor credit, it was even worse than I could have imagined.

There was one act on it who reminded me why I steer clear of TV talent shows.

They were two blokes performing under the name Kendro - an amalgamation of Kendall and Alejandro. It didn’t take a genius to see they were taking their lead from last year’s novelty act Jedward.

The judges all agreed that neither of them could sing after hearing their woeful attempt at Lady Gaga’s Born This Way. Despite the fact these two prats had no discernable talent, three out of the four judges elected to put them through because they were ‘entertaining’.

I can only assume that young men behaving like hyperactive wee girls now qualifies as entertainment. Louis Walsh went as far as saying he loved them.

I just don’t get it. X Factor is supposed to be a singing contest, yet an act that clearly can’t sing get put through the audition process.

Imagine they applied the same principal to the driving test...

“OK, Kendall, I’m counting a total of 38 major faults including driving at 60 miles per hour through a pedestrian precinct. On the plus side you did bring a tin of travel sweets with you. Not many people would have that sort of forethought. Also counting in your favour was that wonderful game of ‘I Spy’ you instigated on the A19. And for that reason I’m giving you a pass!”

Sick in my own time

I contracted man flu last week which was especially annoying because it fell during my fortnight’s holidays from work.

There’s nothing worse than being laid low when you’re supposed to be making the most of your time off.

Yet, when sickness strikes you down during the working week there’s a strange contentment to be gained from having a duvet day on the sofa watching rubbish daytime TV.

At one point I actually considered phoning Clint and asking if I could trade three days holidays for three sick days so I could at least ‘enjoy’ my suffering on work time.

You’ll be glad to learn I am fully recovered from man flu. It turns out I had contracted a unique strain known as ‘Yer man flu’.

Clint the Corncurer

On Friday night at the firewalk in aid of Assisi Animal Sanctuary, Clint came, he saw and he corncured. That’s not a spelling mistake - he actually has the hot coals to thank for curing his corns.

The video evidence of his feat doesn’t exactly establish whether it’s him or not. I’ve scrutinised the grainy footage and have concluded the person ‘happy clapping’ his way over the coals could be either Clint, Peter Griffin from Family Guy or food critic Charles Campion (Google him). But in the spirit of charity, I’m prepared to take Clint at his word and give him a congratulatory pat on the back for his efforts which raised close to £500 for the Assisi Animal Sanctuary.

Clint is a man of many nicknames (most of them unprintable). One of those nicknames is ‘Tincl’, which since his firewalking experience has become ‘Tincltoes’ given the speed at which he blazed over the coals.

When asked if he picked up any burns on Friday night, Clint said the soles of his feet were fine but he blistered his thumb on the hotplate at the buffet afterwards.

He actually described the firewalk as being so easy it felt like “walking on carpet”. I’ve a right mind to ask for my sponsorship money back.

Weekly teaser

The answer to the teaser last time round was: a hippopotamus’s shadow.

Here’s this week’s teaser: Why are 1985 bottles of Scotch whiskey more valuable than 1977 bottles of Scotch whiskey?

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