Obama, Oh Mama

Last night.....Watched a cracking little doc on BBC 2 about Barack Obama then switched over to BBC4 after de X factor for another fly-on-the-wall doc (from 1960) which followed JFK around as he aimed for the Big Job. His pain in neck opponent was avuncular Hubert Humphrey, who, bless him, reminded me of my primary school headmaster, the one legged Mr Storey. An acid/fruit squash mash-up.

The X Factor drove me bonkers.
Yuk to District 3. Three loveable boys who should by rights be at home in their bedrooms singing into their razors.

Wiltingly excellent Jahmene whose money- notes chill me. How he gets his chords up there beats me. Eerily talented for an Asda worker.

Union J. Will be another X factor success story. Not only do they look terrific they warble well as well.Particularly admire their dress code. Waistcoat/white shirt.

There's something about Ella that grates on me. Of course she sings incredibly well but the 16 year old has no stage presence and, from snippets I've seen of her backstage, could be prone to strops if things fail to go her way. My God girl, accept you're an imperfect child, learn great things and get on with it.

Rylan or however one spells his name is such a luvvie I can't fail to admire him. And underneath the Essex creosote I feel there's a serious star begging to be let out. Not fit for Les Miserables or anything more like pained up nephew suddenly turning up in Albert Square on Christmas Eve.

James Arthur. Oh boy. Whatever he sings I see his innards. And I love that. Has to be in the final final.

Christopher Maloney. Shaky shaky? Baloney. Get rid.

Talking of shaky shaky. Mother was that this morning. Sick in car but hanging on in there for one of my chocolate muffins. The two are unrelated.
She is breaking both my back and heart but after I've penned this I'll settle her down with more tea and televised tennis from Queens. And as she catches occasional glimpses of balls with her one good eye, I'll clean and cook. Mostly cook:)

Post Over.