IT’S THE FINAL! EXCITEMENT!

Well not really, because dear reader, what we started off with at 7pm on Saturday was the beginning of FOUR HOURS of final tedium.

FOUR HOURS.

Don’t stop and try to work out how much of your life you’ve spent watching X Factor. It will make you weep with anger and lead you to potential heinous acts, like smashing your TV. Insurance companies won’t pay out on X Factor rage – I think Simon’s had it patented as an act of God.

Like us, Dermot was clearly flagging. Haunted is not a good look for presenters. Maybe it was because he knew he had to listen to Stacey Solomon still managing to be louder than the screaming hordes in Colchester. It’s always a bit Eurovision having somebody very tenuously connected with the finalists’ hometowns in danger of being crushed to death to bring us a live reaction. They’ve gathered in a village hall to be on X Factor – the mental capacity of these people means that their response is never anything more than screaming in an incoherent manner.

Much like the first song which was “sung” by everybody who got through to the live shows. No one was allowed to sing live apart from the actual finalists [that’s a thing – why does X Factor insist on calling everyone in the live shows finalists when clearly they’re not?] and Cher who HAD to rap. Even though they were butchering ‘What A Feeling’ which has no rap bits in it at all. It didn’t matter though – Wagner was there and, for a brief moment, all was right in the world.

Sadly, it didn’t last, as Matt had to sing on his own. After we’d seen him go home to his parents [who he still lives with, ladies - is that not a deal breaker?] and cry and watched everyone else cry, he decided to carry on his weird practice of only singing songs made famous by girls (apart from one or two exceptions) and strangled out a Dido song. To compound this boringly predictable song choice, he was accompanied by some shrouded faux violinists. Obviously.

Dermot gallantly tried to persevere with the screaming Essex hordes but was beaten back by a combination of Stacey being beyond incomprehensible and not being able to see her. Matt looked vaguely embarrassed to be from Colchester.

Rebecca was up next with a HI-NRG number which involved her performing complex dance moves in a street style. No, no it didn’t. She sang some ditty that sounded vaguely familiar and was very possibly on one of those bazillion “Acoustic” compilations that bombarded the shops a couple of years ago when everyone decided that they were twee and wanted to wear cardigans. In her favour, her dress was beautiful and she sounded lovely as ever. And she did move. Well, technically she stood still on a giant cylinder and people moved it for her so she personally didn’t move but it’s a start. Cheryl really struggled to look like she gave a damn about Rebecca and couldn’t have looked more uncomfortable meeting her family if she tried.

One Direction, being made up of leftovers, had to do a lot of travelling to see their families. We didn’t learn a lot apart from Harry’s mum is surprisingly hot and his step-dad must have some money as there’s no way he’d be able to get her otherwise. Simon however had learnt that you don’t sing LAST year’s John Lewis ad song – Matt, we’re looking at YOU – but THIS year’s one. So they did and it was ok and there was fake snow and girls screaming and well, you know the score.

We went to Cher’s incredibly URBAN and BROOKLYN-like home town of Malvern to see where she gets her incredibly STREET roots from. It was painfully obvious to see that treading those MEAN streets had turned Cher into what she is today.

Continuing her run of songs that NO ONE has heard of, Cher sang/rapped/whatever a “mash-up” of Get Ur Freak On and another song that didn’t make any sense. None of that mattered though as she was wearing pyjama bottoms with giant lips on. It was all incredibly confusing and it made me a little bit scared for the youth and the future. Louis, being sadly marginalised through having no one left, took his opportunity to tell Cher that she was a brat AND had a heart of gold, conveniently forgetting that these two things cannot be said of the same person.

Next we were promised more songs but with A TWIST. The twist being that everyone would be blown off the stage by whichever Actual Popstar they were paired with.

Matt trotted out in a bizarrely shiny and ill-fitting suit, barely containing his excitement at the prospect of being shown up by Rihanna. Rihanna, for her part, had scalped Ronald McDonald and forgotten to have the side of her dress sewn up. Or wear any knickers by the looks of it. Matt really could barely contain his excitement and was unable to properly describe to Dermot what it felt like as it was before the watershed.

Rebecca got to sing with Christina Aguilera. What I liked about this was that Aguilera patently had NO IDEA who Rebecca was or indeed what was going on. As she was clearly here to promote ‘Burlesque’, I felt cheated that we weren’t treated to the true STAR of that film, Actual Cher.  No one wants to go and see a film based on the promotions of Aguilera. Anyway, they sang ‘Beautiful’ and Rebecca simply stopped singing towards the end, possibly overwhelmed by wondering exactly how many pies Aguilera had stuffed into her face backstage.

Fulfilling his final contractual obligations, poor Wand Erection was saddled with Robbie Williams. The rest of Take That clearly wanted no part of it lest they burst into tears at being reminded of their lost youth. Robbie was wide eyed and manically enthusiastic enough not to notice this. Wand Erection looked a teeny bit scared as Robbie forgot his bromance with Mr Potato Head Olly Murs and instead declared undying love for them.

Also fulfilling his contractual obligations and continuing his mission to get into Cheryl’s knickers, Will.I.Am showed up with a giant lego necklace of himself to “sing” with Cher. What this revealed is that Cher likes wearing bowties almost as much as Louis, silver foil skater skirts are not a good look and Black Eyed Peas songs should not be performed live. If ever.

So, there was half an hour to fill before Take Me Out started [the true highlight of the evening] and what to do? Twiddle our thumbs? Play eye-spy? No, it was our chance to gawp, open mouthed and drooling at Rihanna prancing around in what amounted to her underwear. There’s not much more to say about it.

Aguilera tried to out-do this peppy upstart by reminding us that she pranced around in her underwear long before we’d even heard of Rihanna. It wasn’t as good or erotic and only served to magnify the ache in my heart that Actual Cher wasn’t there.

Finally, the moment was upon us to have some actual dramz. No, sorry, it wasn’t. We all knew Cher would be going home. Her swagger or whatever it is simply wasn’t strong enough for the collective might of Rebecca, Matt and Wand Erection.

Cher’s album will be available to buy sometime in the new year. I would love it if she was interviewed by Westwood. They’re both as street as each other.

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