Going Back to a Simpler Place and Time (Woo Woo!)

The Incumbent suggested I might like to look up on Youtube the latest sensation to take to the stage in Britain’s Got Talent. In the spirit of Susan Boyle, the producers have unearthed a young lad with the face of a fat Ross Noble and the voice of an Italian fiver. The missus was drawn to tears by the young man’s performance, and quite right too. I always cry when I watch a show including David Walliams but this time I had moist mince pies not because the poor man’s Michael MacIntyre was on the box again, but because he was on a panel (how ? HOW?) judging the worth of various acts. This eclectic bunch had, presumably, seen he’d had his own TV show and thought “well, if he can make a couple of quid with bugger all talent at all, I must have half a chance”.

Walliams, like the other half of the new BBC Sports line-up, John Bishop, is about as funny accidentally ending up at Michael Barrymore’s holiday home in Homs, Syria  where he’s holding a comeback swimming pool and toilet brush party. Recently, in lieu of telling shite jokes, the gruesome twosome have donned swimming trunks and taken the place of horse racing, Formula1, cricket, Football and Rugby. Just in case you find yourself enjoying it, Mike Bushell pops up to fuck up all the continuity announcements, and Boom Goes the Dynamite. The half time entertainment is provided by Freddie Flintoff naming the flags and national dishes of Commonwealth countries.

But I digress.

So Walliams with his fellow smug arse Simon Cowell (I neither have time nor space to discuss him here) hold the power of life and death over a motley collection of talented (or otherwise) men and women, boys and girls (or otherwise) who perform on stage in front of a tv audience of millions. It’s mostly pretty buttock-clenching stuff, but every so often they unearth a Susan Boyle or a Jonathan Antoine and his friend Charlotte (who The Sun exclusively reveal today is an aspiring model !!!! Who knew ???)

The boy John really can sing. He has a fantastic pair of lungs. (I’m not posting the video here because a bit of me thinks every click justifies Cowell and Walliams existence and that’s not what I’m here to do. Honestly. ) But it got me around to thinking that after the success of Subo, the fat and ugly clubs of the UK have been inundated with Simon’s talent scouts looking for someone with a face like a blind cobbler’s thumb and the voice of a Disney cartoon nymph to “surprise” the panel for the new series. If you happen to have  a face like a bulldog licking the piss of a thistle, expect a mic thrust under your nose on the off-chance you can knock out a tune like Engelbert Humperdink – or even maybe in tune.

And before you ask, no – I have not been approached by a team of researchers with a tape recorder asking me to warble Old Shep for Amanda Holden to weep over. And weep she would, for all sorts of reasons. Weeping is also rife in my house – and not just when The Incumbent watches young singers on talent shows. DIY SOS gets me, if you really want to know.

So big Johnathan and his sister got through to the next round and I suppose the recording contract has already been signed (even if it hadn’t been by the time we saw him on our screens). Is Susan Boyle still a going concern ? I don’t know but I suspect she is making shedloads of cash from sales to every other mothers in the land. Johnathan, I suspect, will be heading for a similar, successful career.

If you really want to see talent, take a butchers at the below, sent to me this afternoon by The Talented Mr Rapley (raconteur, bon-viveur and wit) who couldn’t help himself from reminding us all of the great talent that were Gladys Knights Pips (and that’s not a euphemism). If Johnathan could squeeze himself into either one of these magnificent flared suits, or even Gladys’s poncho, and perform these moves he’d get my vote every week. But in the meantime, no weeping just sit back and enjoy these chaps at their peak.

Shove that up your arse, Walliams.

1 thought on “Going Back to a Simpler Place and Time (Woo Woo!)

  1. A loyal Reader writes…
    Firstly,I have to say I agree with every fucking syllable of your wonderful blog today,and thanks for tipping your hat.
    The talentless,charmless and eerily disconcerting pile of lard in a frock Walliams, who squeezes his shiny countenece ( perhaps cuntenance would be more appropriate) onto our screens every fucking minute of the day,is no more than a fat fucking stooge for Lord Smugness of fucking Cowell.
    Oh what weeks of joy waiting to unfold as Walliams breathily announces “it’s a yes from me!” to every sad freak who whistles Ave Maria through his Prince Albert or the grandson of the one and only *Arthur Knuckles, who’s inherited the glorious knack of rattling out the William Tell overture with his upturned bunch of tens on a B&Q offcut, thus inviting another gurning glare from the prick in the Harry Hill cast offs.
    As you say,I digress.
    Your concern over Subo has a relevance to the above,however. My eye was drawn to the revue in this morning’s Telegraph of “I Dreamed a Dream” at the Theatre Royal in Newcastle. (Good thinking – let”s start the provincial run in a bearpit before we take refuge the leafy suburbs of Guildford).
    The producer must have scoured the Highlands and Islands,holding a McGroundhog Day series of auditions to find an actress who looks and sounds like Subo.Not another Subo ,just someone who can impersonate her.That’s real talent.
    Well stap me,they found her.They gave her the gig,force fed her with battered pizza and eyebrow enhancing steroids and elocution lessons from Stanley Unwin’s dyslexic brother. Soon,she was ready.
    First night in Toon Town. Go on girl, good luck.Break a leg.
    She wowed them with her uncannily realistic performance.She’s got the voice to a T. Baffling asides to the audience.The lot.
    Then, as she nears the end of the show,she introduced the audience to……Subo herself, who does a rousing rendition of the show’s title. Not a dry seat in the house.
    A standing ovation ensues. For who? What’s the fucking point? How about having an upstage by Subo on your CV.
    There’s a chuckling,sadistic theatre producer somewhere who doesn’t care a tuppenny fuck and is oblivious to the distant splash in the Tyne.
    I wonder if his name is Cowell ?
    Keep up the good work

    *Arthur Knuckles actually made the final of Opportunity Knocks. His work was outstanding.His finishing position is lost in the mists of time.

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