X Factor and the dry cleaners next door

Is it just me,

Or does anyone else think that the “Star” dressing room in the X Factor studio must have something wrong with its air conditioning ?

Like maybe the studio is next door to a dry cleaners and the studio intake vent is right next to the dry cleaners extract vent ?

Is that why, for the past two weeks the “Star” turn has appeared to be, erm, how can I put this, not of this planet ?

Those of an English domicile will know well that the Home Office have been running a series of TV adverts in which we are persuaded that your average  British police constable can tell whether or not you have been taking illegal mind-enhancing substances simply by looking at your eyes, for it is written that when you’re high as a kite your eyes grow as wide as saucepans and in the famous TV advert a car full of youths passes a car of the police variety and the policeman notices that all of its contents indeed have the eyes-of-saucepans, and he knows they have partaken of those illegal substances.

We’ve had those TV adverts rammed down our throats for the past three months and so every citizen of these shores now knows that those who are wide-eyed and itching are indeed “on the juice” and are consequently bad.

And so last week along comes Robbie Williams, self confessed substance abuser, self confessed that very week that he was only days away from dying of his habit, but now he is fully cured, he is now on the righteous road of recovery and he will never again snort, inject, chew or smoke a drug of any choice that is not Asprin or similar, and we believe him for he is Robbie Williams and not a bad person, merely led drown the wrong path by those bad people in showbusiness – but Robbie is now clean, we have been told it is so.

And so we all settle down to watch Robbie last week on The X Factor, the shining light to all the young and impressionable budding stars, the role model that the music business hold up as an inspiration to these meagre talents, “Look, do as we say and you too can be like Robbie” they say, and on bounces Robbie like a Tigger on steroids, bouncing around the stage with the saucepan eyes and when Dermot finally catches the helium balloon that is Robbie and drags him back down onto the stage we, the watching public all mouth in perfect synchronisation, “What the fook is he on ?” for Robbie has the eyes of the TV adverts and if he were driving home tonight we all hope that a clever policeman does not e-spy him in the car for he will know, as we all know.

And so this week we all tune in again where Whitney Houston is the main event, Whitney Houston, she of the infamous husband, she of the troubled substance-addled past, but she is clean now, we know this for we are told this by her publicists and PR people and those people would never fabricate such stories just for monetary gain and to promote their fading stars, oh no, we trust these people, Whitney is clean and ready to hit the heights of stardom again.

And she comes on stage and she mimes to a song that is indistinguishable to a million others and in doing so shines the light for the eleven remaining budding X Factor stars, “Be like me, let the recording studio guys make you sound good then just pretend to sing” they say.

And when she is finished and Dermot grabs her arm to talk to her she is not of the saucepan eyes, oh no, Ms Houston is of the dead eyes, the eyes that say “Hello, what day is this and what are all these people doing in my room ?” and Dermot asks her questions and she mumbles and laughs in the middle of sentences where you shouldn’t be laughing and people in the audience cringe a little and implore Dermot to make the moment go away, we need an advert break here and how ironic would it be if the advert break was that advert where the police constable spots a car full of youths with the saucepan eyes …