ten pence she asked for,
then a cigarette. later,
she asked me again.
Robert The Bond came round this evening to join us for The Ugly One’s posh sausage and bean casserole (Welsh Dragon Sausages, made from real Welsh dragons), and the final of ‘Britain’s Got Talent’.
This year it was a pretty bizarre selection, featuring a surprisingly large contingent of dance acts, two teenage classical singers, a dancing dog, an electronic girlie muzak quartet and a singing plumber.
I was confused by the singing plumber. Apparently he was good enough to get to and through the semi-final to the last ten. I had not seen him before, so he must have been in one of the earlier shows I missed.
He chose to sing ‘Imagine’ and none of us at home could see anything remarkable about him at all, apart from the fact that he’s a plumber who sings. The judges seemed to agree, and it seemed the plumber’s fate was sealed like a brand new U-bend.
‘Signature’ were my favourites; a couple of Indian guys who did a kind of dance-off between Michael Jackson and a fat sikh. (You have to see it to appreciate it really).
However, they came second. Third was the sad faced bullied schoolboy singing ‘Pie Jesu’ in a grown-up suit with his shirt hanging out, and first was George, a teenager who did a robotic, breakdance-style version of ‘Singing In The Rain’, complete with rain.
Now he gets a hundred thousand pounds and (more importantly, according to The Cowell) to perform in front of Prince Charles himself.
I’m still baffled as to why 99% of the performers were fairly swooning at the thought. ‘Ooh, it would be such an honour!’ being the favoured phrase of the series.
Why would it be? I really am at a loss to understand.