Hug a Virgin Month

Britain's Got Talent!

I have a talent; a wonderful ability that sets me apart from a chuffing great chunk of the people of this septic isle.

I don't know if you will believe this, but Simon Cowell's evil powers cannot harm me.

The man who brought you that musical masterwork, Slam Jam by the WWF Superstars, is reaping the benefits of this country's sappy and predictable population. For a man born with Herman Munster's head, he's done ok.

I wish I could say that this was purely a British affliction, but it seems that the whole world has gone bonkers over the guy's latest victim/prospect. Susan Boyle has gone from being some woman who nobody cares to about to being some woman who no one will remember in a year in just a few short weeks.

The reaction to this talented lady has been just as predictable as it is laughable. The media would like us to believe that this is a brave new world for normal-looking people to break into showbiz; something that has never hsappened before. Yeah, and that Paul Potts was a good-looking bastard, wasn't he?

Not that the audience were expecting much from Boyle's audition for ITV Have No Ideas. After all, never in recorded history has there been an ugly virgin who could sing.

Then she sang.

Amanda Holden plugged in the Blub 5000, Piers Morgan almost made a facial expression and Cowell put his hands under his legs to stop himself doing a Mr Burns impression.

He couldn't hide the huge dollar signs in his eyes, however.

Some soppy music played in the background as viewers got a lecture about never laughing at a virgin before she opens her mouth and lo, a star was born.

Cue the aftermath...Screech machine Holden stopped playing to the gallery for a bit to have a sutble dig at this brand new sensation. Of course the woman shouldn't have a make-over, Amanda. Those middle-aged working class women shouldn't ever look there best in case you show up to patronise them.

The rest of the shows so far (from what I could bear to watch) have seen Ant & Dec be entertaining, while the rest remains a clip show of freaks and starry-eyed wannabes desperate for Cowell to take them under his cloak, sorry, wing.

Sign me up, Beelzebub - your son's nicking all the cash.