The X Factor

Following Sunday nights X-Factor, a good friend of mine sent me the below review. I loved it so much I had to feature it on my blog...

*Please note I am not claiming credit for this article, it can be found on The Metro website, or by clicking here.*

The question I've got, is: Did we need two episodes this weekend? 

Not especially, as we’re now stuck with the quite good, rather than possibly mentally ill contestants, and can no longer enjoy trying to work out who sorted Dannii's interior design.

The real intrigue came from the obvious inclusions and outrageous omissions from the last dozen, and we got both in spades on Sunday.

Despite her throat issues, Cher Lloyd was a cert for the live shows since her first audition, but selecting Belle Amie over tattooed manband The Reason, or irritating Katie over adorable Gamu, seemed designed to irritate.

What else did we learn? Little, other than a reminder of Natalie Imbruglia's ability to look delectable even when Tango-ed, Louis' growing despair at mentoring the over-28s and Cheryl Cole’s prodigious talent for tears.

It was a strange episode, all told.

Rather than singing or artificial spats between Simon Cowell and Cheryl, we instead faced 20 minutes of television stretched to an hour-and-a-half.

Producing these editions must be a doddle for the technical staff; insert montage of contestant’s first audition, add interview about how much they “want this”, cut to judge delivering verdict, add dramatic pause and repeat over and over again.

But after that ordeal, we have a final 12; Blackpool native with Shoreditch haircut Aiden; likeable Matt; flamboyant Nicolo; Tesco Mary;  soulful John; fake-American Storm; glorified dancers FYD; destined-to-go-out-first Belle Amie; Bieber-alikes 1 Direction; Scouse Rebecca, peroxide idiot Katie and Cheryl Cole’s Mini-Me Cher.

Is there a future Leona or, shudder, Leon Jackson within? The next few weeks of hilariously dramatic, expensively lit television will reveal all.