since i’ve lived in Norfolk for the second time, it hasn’t been easy. i don’t think it’s been particularly easy for an of my family, though my sister is much happier now her boyfriend has moved in with us. my parents have settled into new jobs. and i have… well, i have just got on with it.
i spend the majority of my time at school either in lessons or sitting by my lonesome in the LRC, watching youtube videos or whatever i can find really. it’s been hard for me to socialize for varying reasons. and it’s been like this for two years straight.
not once have i complained to anybody in my life about this - not my family, not the college, not any of my friends from where i used to live. and very recently, it all got a little bit too much. i’d had enough. two years is a long time to spend in isolation, particularly when you’ve just left an established group of wonderful friends who you’ve known for many, many years. so i took it upon myself to do damage that could have potentially ended up being quite irreversible.
however, i do not want to dwell on any of these points - what i want to do is give an idea of how i’ve felt inside for the last two years as a counterpoint to what i’m about to say.
you see, last august i attended a festival event that is held in the town i live in every year - people get drunk, there are bands, stalls, all that stuff - it’s pretty good fun. and myself and my sister’s boyfriend took it upon ourselves to get rather drunk rather early in the day; by about 3pm i was well and truly not remembering any of it in the morning. however, whilst out, i met someone.
this might not sound like a big thing, but for me it was. i met someone - not through my family, or family friends - i met someone who i did not know in anyway, out of the blue, and made friends with them there. i do not doubt i was helped along by a lot of alcohol, but we became friends quickly, and i ended up spending the rest of the afternoon and evening with this young woman, arm in arm, having a wonderful time.
the event finished, we said our goodbyes afterwards, and that was that. i did not get her name, her number, nothing. i thought that my one shot at a meaningful friendship had been lost.
so you can imagine my wonder and excitement when two days later, somebody from college mentioned her to me in conversation, saying he’d seen us together and that he knew her. i figured this must’ve meant something - i’m not much for fate and destiny and what not, but i was not letting this chance go to waste. so i made contact.
that was august.
it is now january, and two days ago we begun a relationship - like, a proper male/female happy lovey relationship. she is wonderful - witty, gorgeous, and i feel absolutely comfortable with and around her in every way. and i have not been this happy in two years.
i figured that was worth at least a blog =]
As I watched the latest X Factor episode, anger and frustration gradually gave way to a sombre, resigned acceptance. It was like experiencing a slow, painful death. What gets me is how the docile masses continue to lap this contrived, manipulated shit up. It follows the exact same template week in, week out yet no one bats an eyelid. The show went beyond the boundaries of taste and decency long ago. In the past we have had a finalist sing about his recently-deceased wife, but the way it revels in wheeling out hopelessly deluded wannabes to be ridiculed reached a new nadir last series. Abby and Lisa, a tuneless trailer trash duo you could see coming a mile off, got into a spat with a judge before one girl threw a punch at the other. ‘Roll up, roll up. Come laugh at the freaks.’ This is not entertainment. This is The Jeremy Kyle Show with a backing track, and for Cowell and his cronies to make out they actually care as this pre-scripted, nonsense plays out is beyond contempt. Cowell’s uncanny ability to spin it all out as authentic, and real, makes me think he is wasted on entertainment. Kim Jong-il could learn a thing or two from him about how to control a population through propaganda. It’s been reassuring in some small way to hear certain musicians express their disapproval, like Lily Allen. Her tweets recently criticised the show for being too scripted and Cowell being the only beneficiary. ‘It’s everything that I detest about modern western culture… I’d rather actually eat my own crap, than sit next to any of those goons… I’ve better things to do with my time than feed the nation with the notion that doing cover versions will sort your life out.’ Regardless of Lily’s tweets, the autotune controversy, and this little diatribe of mine, the show will juggernaut along its merry way, continuing to rake in enormous viewing figures. Cowell is like the house in casinos – he always wins. My personal disgust commences pretty much from the moment Cowell rocks up in his chauffeur-driven cunt-mobile to the latest audition, and waves to the adoring fans as if he is some kind of modern day Pope. It’s like a weird cult as members of the public perform those horrifically retarded, crossed arm, X Factor insignia signs on cue. I’m already seething and the auditions haven’t even started yet. If there’s one thing we’ve learnt about X Factor over the years, it’s that it loves the Chumbawamba contestant – the one who has previously got knocked down but has got up again to give the audition process another go – and it milks these returnees for all they are worth. First week it was Liam Payne; the week before, Anastasia Baker. ‘Take your shoes off. I want you to be you,’ Cowell tells Annastasia, trying to be heart-felt but sounding like David Brent. Cowell’s incessant earnestness has become so laughable it’s a wonder he can keep a straight face. ‘I always tell my kids never to give up on their dream,’ she says. Such music luminaries as Geri Halliwell nod their sincere approval. ‘It’s took a lot of courage for yous to come back on the show and try again,’ says X Factor’s Geordie princess, eyes glistening. ‘More eye drops for Cheryl,’ I imagine the producers screaming. The manufactured emotion is relentless.
So we’ll have Joe McElderry and Alex Burke and Leona Lewis and JLS performing on the live shows and Cowell telling everyone, ‘That, on any scale, was world class.’ just ahead of their next release. And, fuck it, this is money for old rope and I could do with another yacht, so let’s have Same Difference and Rhydian back on again for good measure and I’ll tell viewers how great they are too. Look, let’s end the debate once and for all. X Factor is nothing more than a textbook lesson in how to brainwash the masses through emotional glove puppetry. It is a tasteless, exploitative, intelligence insulting marketing exercise, and to submit to it is to allow yourself to be intellectually raped. While Cowell loves to portray himself as a man of the people, the reality is, it is those same people he is flagrantly ripping off. This is the greatest tyranny of X Factor – that the fortunes it earns in revenue are largely fleeced from those who are incapable of realising they are being sold a crock of shit. They’re the ones who keep the whole nefarious reality machine ticking over, by ringing up to vote at one pound per call, unless ringing from a mobile phone in which case it’ll cost considerably more. This year, the cover versions sung by the fame-craving flotsam will surely be available for download so the music chart from November until Christmas will be dominated by X Factor rip offs. In previous years we’ve had Leona Lewis singing a cover of a Snow Patrol record. The great unwashed listen in awe and probably think she wrote it. Ditto Alex Burke singing Leonard Cohen’s ‘Hallelujah’. The abuse and thievery of other people’s art is grotesque, and quite how Cowell gets away with it, I’m still not sure. Like everything on the show it is utterly shameless, and entirely self-serving. They say societies get the governments they deserve. The truth is, we get the reality shows we deserve too and X Factor reiterates why the world is just plain wrong.
