X-Factor. Wham Night. The Results Show

So, here we go again. Last night's recap is confirming (a) that George Michael not only writes quite good songs, he writes songs that NOBODY else can sing, and (b) that this really is a fairly shit year. There's no Leona. There isn't even a credible Will Young. Fuck it. It's all about Jedward.

In a reassuring return to form though, we're guaranteed a little bit of mental from tonight's guests. I should state at this stage that I've never watched Britain's Got Talent, and as such my dislike of SuBo (abbreviation for the sake of convenience) is based purely on instinct, and, if I'm honest, the fact that she's really, really ugly. Carey, I like. She's mental. And one of the fittest ugly girls around, if you know what I mean. Anyway - let's get to it.

I wasn't entirely convinced by last night's blog - and I'm really not sure how it's going to work on results night, given that the results shows tend to be defined by the absolute lack of anything happening at any point, ever. Still. Let's persevere.

Hello, Judges. Dannii's dressed like a school-teacher, presumably EXHAUSTED after showing the world her tits every show for the last four weeks. Cheryl, on the other hand, seems to be worried that the 14 year old girls might have run out of credit, and is hoping to assure Lloyd 'Shit' Daniels' continued participation by getting them out for the lads.

So - the group performance. It's 'Wake me up...'. This, unlike a lot of other Wham songs, should be very, very hard to fuck up. I love it when Joe and Stacey sing together - I find it genuinely impossible to tell which one has the female voice.

This is the gayest performance of this gay anthem EVER. Well done, kids.

So, the 'charity' single has gone in at number one, meaning it sold at least 17 copies, guaranteeing Great Ormond Street AT LEAST 17 unwanted copied of the X-Factor charity single. You know, if they can be bothered to visit the Chigwell Oxfam after Christmas.

Right. Recap done. Time for half an hour of filler. Starting with the AMAZING news that ugly people can also sing a bit. Look! LOOK AT THE UGLY WOMAN SING A BIT BETTER THAN BADLY! (I'm really just distracting myself while the ugly lady sings. It's nice to see that success hasn't changed her though, isn't it? Beneath the make-up, the hair and the expensive dress, she's still just a mentally-troubled, ugly Scottish lass, and I salute that. Has anyone ever seen her and Rab C Nesbitt in the same room? She didn't actually win, did she? Who did? Oh, never mind. She's finished. As you were. Christ, get off the stage, woman. You're scaring the children. THINK OF THE CHILDREN.)

Lines are closed, people. If Lloyd 'Shit' Daniels isn't in the bottom two, and you didn't vote for somebody else, IT'S YOUR FAULT.

I'm probably not the only one crossing my fingers and hoping that Mariah pulls out a crossbow in the middle of this song and shoots Simon in the face. Am I? Oh, come on. Fingers crossed for the mental. She's singing a PROPERLY amazing song though. A song which I've always imagined as crying-out for a mid-Atlantic, warbly R&B makeover. Click those fingers, bitch. And gospel the fuck out of it. YEAH. LOOK AT THE FIST CLENCH! SHE MEANS IT. She's also piled on the pounds - in your FACE, Kate Moss. Cake tastes better than being skinny - just ask Mariah. Who, incidentally, just went supersonic, liquefying my insides in the process. Messy. That bit aside, though, she was disappointingly non-mental. I fear Robbie and Whitney set the bar too high at the start of the live shows. Everyone's just intimidated. Believe, SuBo, and storm the fucking stage. Bite Lloyd's face off. Rip his tongue out. I DARE you. I DOUBLE dare you. Oh, fuck off then.

Right. The good bit. My money's on Jedward and Shit (typing Lloyd 'Shit' Daniels' every time is getting EXHAUSTING), but Danyl could still save the twins. I really hope he does. Olly's warming up the fist-pump.

I have a new Joe theory. I think his right ear is just a lot heavier than his left. Anyway.

Stacey's safe. And BORING. Lloyd looks lost and confused. He doesn't know where he is. Joe's safe. Obviously. Danyl's safe. Now it's just...

Fuck. Me. FUCK ME. I'm gobsmacked. Olly? Seriously? WHAT THE FUCK DOES LLOYD HAVE TO DO? WHAT THE COCKING FUCKING BASTARDLY FUCK-TWAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? I don't think you appreciate how bad Lloyd is. How DANGEROUS he is. And it upsets me.

And breathe. Ok. It's time to face facts. Dial up the sunshine bus, and baby-proof Ireland - Jedward are coming home. Let's enjoy their last performance - they've given us a lot, people.

Erm... How are Jedward going to squeeze a novelty rap into this? They're doing BOIZONE, because BOIZONE are OIRISH, and they're OIRISH. Sadly they seem to have chosen a song that showcases the fact that they really can't sing. Sadly, they're leaving us with a whimper. An extremely flat whimper. I think Louis's rather missed the 'why people like Jedward' point. I'm really, really going to miss them. And I'm obviously never going to buy anything they release.

So. Olly. Doing Clapton. Why are we being so fucking melancholy tonight? Make us laugh, you fuckers. If I had a performing monkey, I would NOT make it sing ballads. I would either make it dance around with it's scopey twin, or I'd make it neck-dance furiously. You are ALL pissing me off.

So, Simon sends the twins home. Cheryl sends the twins home. Louis obviously saves the twins, and speaks FOR A NATION, when he questions the persistence of the one known only as Shit. Dannii in the spotlight. Will she have the balls to be controversial? No. Course not. G'bye, twins. It's been fun. And, I'll be honest, I've already almost forgotten you.

Oh, I take that back. They're the sweetest kids. And their hair is AMAZING. God speed, Jedward. Here's hoping you catch that biscuit one day. And that Louis hasn't damaged you eternally. Or, indeed, internally.

Dermot just struggled to subtract one from six. He's given up on everything. And, frankly, I'm not sure I blame him. We're left with Smug-Boy, Snaggletooth, the FNAARK-Monster, Robbie Williams' Fifth Understudy, and The One They Call Shit. That doesn't fill me with Xmas cheer. This has not been a good weekend for the X-Factor. And I'm not convinced by this live-blogging thing. I'm not sure I'll do it again.

Balls.