So Britain’s Got Talent has it? Hmm… given the plethora of acts of questionable entertainment value on public display the other day, I suspect the name of the show may have been abridged from: “Britain’s Got [a shedload of numpty’s who each labour under the misapprehension that they’ve got] Talent”.
At a cursory glance, the cream of ‘talented Britons’ who negotiated their way to the semi-final included a kid’s dance troupe, a peculiar-looking opera singer and a comedically-challenged impressionist so bad that he felt the need to introduce each of his impersonations by name, lest the audience be confused as to who on earth he was failing spectacularly to sound like. For example: “[adopt generic cockney accent] Hello, my name’s Alan Sugar and I need an apprentice. What do you think David Beckham? [adopt generic high-pitched, slightly whiney voice] Well, my name’s David Beckham and I’m a bit thick etc.” – rubbish.
The prize for the winner is the opportunity to entertain The Queen at the Royal Variety Performance. One of the contestants who won’t be mingling with the likes of Joe Pasquale and Cirque du bloody Soleil is the aforementioned impressionist who the next day was exposed by one of the red-tops as some kind of sex pest, which scuppered his chances somewhat. I don’t think it’s the sort of “variety” Her Majesty’s into.
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2 comments:
I like the fact that the winner is called Paul Potts. Like Pol Pot without the genocide, I guess.
Ha! I never knew that... Hopefully he doesn't incorporate his namesake's grisly penchant for mass slaughter into his act. "Next, ladies and gents I’m going to sing Nessun Dorma while simultaneously spilling the blood of the innocents. I thank you... [cue orchestra]"
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