A good roasting

That's what some of the contestants on X Factor could have done with Saturday night - a good roasting. Preferably over a large open fire in the ITV studios. And throw in Louis Walsh and Dermot O'Leary for good measure. Roast leprechaun anyone?

Speaking of roasts, I have one in the oven right now. A rolled leg of lamb stuffed with capers, garlic and anchovies. I'm really looking forward to it. Certainly given that I have a minging hangover, caused by Cava, which only roasted meat and ample carbs will be able to penetrate.

Anyway, back to the show. Last night's programme put me in mind of a Pontin's holiday camp talent contest (Butlins would have been too good). Or at least a very poor year at Eurovision. Let's recap on some of the low lights:

• A rapping skeleton from with eyelashes nicked off some ropey drag queen attempting to convince us that Worcestershire is a hotbed of raw urban talent. Move over Brixton, the 'Malvern Massive' is where it's at.
• The reincarnation of Margarita Pracatan, but now she is a scary beardy weirdy bongo player from Brazil trying to channel Barry Gibb.
• Diva Fever - who might as well have just waved a massive rainbow flag on the stage for two minutes. It would have been more entertaining.They're gay you know.
• Storm Lee and his amazing troupe of dancing gimps

I could go on, the material was endless, not least Cheryl Cole's increasingly radioactive hue and the fact that every male contestant seems to have their level of campness cranked up to high octane (a shot of tequila for every time the term 'diva' is used next week...I will be rat arsed by the end). But I shall save myself for subsequent shows.