Well, that’s it. Anton is gone, but we’re over halfway through so perhaps things aren’t all bad. Thanks for joining me, everyone, and don’t forget to join me next Saturday, when X Factor will inexplicably be five minutes longer than it was last night even though it has two fewer singers in it. I hate this joke of a life. Blardigan always wins.
He was OK, Anton, wasn’t he? I mean, I’ll never buy any of his records or listen to any of his songs or ever think of him every again, but at least he wasn’t Max Stone.
And she does. ANTON STEPHANS IS GOING HOME. The lack of deadlock frees up a bit of time for a recap, so here’s a recap of Anton’s journey so far.
Cheryl prefaces her judgement by saying ‘It’s not personal’ which means she’s going to vote off Anton.
Phew, no. Rita’s up next. She sends Anton home. It’s all down to Cheryl.
Simon next. He sends Che home equally quickly. Oh no, is all of this going to rest on Rita Ora?
Nick first. He sends Anton home, quick as a flash.
This is OK too, actually. I mean, it’s awful. But it’s awful in a way that’s roughly equivalent to Che Chesterman. I have a feeling there’s a deadlock looming.
Oh, he’s doing that George Michael song that the other 60% of X Factor singers sing in the sing-off.
Nor for Anton Stephans. I don’t know what he’s singing, and I can’t tell whether it’s because I’ve never heard this song or because whenever Anton Stephans sings anything he sounds like he’s standing on a vibrating platform.
Che isn’t exactly putting a lot of effort into this song. This is, I suspect, because he knows he only has to beat Anton tonight.
Wait, scrap that. Now Che’s going full vocal gymnasium on the song. He’s doing The Boiling Kettle. He’s doing The Bag Of Spiders On A Campfire. He’s doing The Punctured Lung. This is more like it.
Che is singing That Song That 40% Of All X Factor Contestants Sing During The Sing-Off. I think it might be an Alicia Keys song, but I genuinely can’t be arsed to look it up.
We’re back. Che Chesterman is the first one to sing for his survival. Nick Grimshaw has just claimed that he has ‘one of my favourite voices in the world right now’, so I already kind of want him to fail just for that.
Asda’s doing £4 beef, too. Tomorrow I’m leaving the house with nothing but £7 and the express intention to hate-eat myself into a coma.
In the sing-off this week, then are CHE CHESTERMAN and ANTON STEPHANS. So who will it be? The consistently praised act with the lovely voice who’s been tipped to win, or the man who had a full-blown tantrum at the judges last night because they rightly pointed out that he sounds like a deflating testicle when he sings? Ooh, this’ll be a hard one.
The last act definitely through is Reggie N Bollie, so thank sweet baby Jesus for that.
Louisa is also through.
As are 4th Impact. They react by screaming. Or singing. I’ve lost the ability to tell which is which any more.
Oh, they’re kicking people off now. Lauren Murray is through to next week.
There have been three million votes this week. We should divide that by five, because everyone gets five free votes, so that means 600,000 people have actually voted. And they closed and reopened the lines last night, so that means 300,000 have voted. And that’s 300,000 people who should be fully ashamed of themselves.
Right, that’s hopefully all the faffing out of the way. Perhaps we can actually bin one of these divs now.
But, still, it’s not all bad news. Lidl sells a three-pound cheesecake now. That’s something, isn’t it? Isn’t it?
And now, performance over, the sheen of confidence fades away and Olly Murs feels an icy breath on his neck. “YOU’VE HAD YOUR TIME, MURS, BUT NOW I’M BACK”. It’s Blardigan. Olly Murs is scared, but he won’t let Blardigan back in, not this time. “Go away, Blardigan” Murs mutters. “OR WHAT?” Blardigan barks. “Or I’ll… I’ll… I’ll a lemmo tate you!” There is a silence, then Olly Murs sighs. Blardigan has won again. Blardigan always wins.
“It’s great to be back on this stage” says Olly Murs, who was LITERALLY JUST ON THAT STAGE FOUR MINUTES AGO, AND HAS BEEN FOR ABOUT A MONTH NOW.
What’s going to happen at the end of this song? Is Olly going to ask himself when the single’s out and whether he’s on tour? Is he going to ask himself who he wants to win X Factor? Is he going to barely listen to his own answers and then ungraciously shove himself offstage? God, I hope so.
See? This isn’t awful. I mean, it isn’t brilliant, and I’m pretty sure it’s at least a little bit sexist, but it isn’t awful. The song’s pretty good – and in a shocking X Factor twist, it sounds like it actually came from 2015 – and Murs is handling it just fine. No cock-ups, no missed cues, no bungled lines. Please just be a singer from now on, Olly. Unless I have to liveblog anything, obviously, because you’re an easy target.
OK! Now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for – Olly Murs is going to sing. That’s right, I’m calling him Olly Murs instead of Blardigan. This is because Olly Murs demonstrates far more competency as a singer than he does as a presenter. Olly Murs and Blardigan are two separate entities, like Good Gollum and Bad Gollum. I hate to say this, but this might not be awful.
The judges are talking about who they want to win. Which is essentially just a recap, isn’t it. Recap recap recap recap recap recap recap recap recap.
ReCRAP more like.
High five me, someone.
Oh God. People on Twitter are saying how much they like reading the liveblog, and I’m partially convinced that this is a coordinated attempt to talk me down from the ledge.
Look, thanks, but it’s OK. Olly Murs is going to do a song next, and there’s a fighting chance that his trousers will fall down and he’ll topple backwards down a staircase. I wouldn’t miss that for the world. I’m not going anywhere.
I don’t know why they did that backstage bit. That’s valuable recap time they were eating into. Why didn’t they show a recap instead? Why didn’t they show a recap of either of the two recaps we just saw?
Blardigan is backstage now, basically just staring at the contestants until they bleat out an insincere affirmation of their desire to win X Factor. They do exactly that, and Blardigan is sated.
The song ends. Caroline Flack described the song as ‘truly beautiful’, because all Caroline Flack has ever had to look at or hear during her life are dust and rocks, and therefore she has no perspective.
This is dreadful. The things I could be doing now. But, no, I’m stuck here trying to think up interesting things to say about this catastrophic nonentity and his witless damp fart of a song. Well, I’ve had it. I’m not doing it.
Oh, it’s a piano ballad. Way to out yourself as a Barlow, Sykes.
But now, look, a guest performance. Whee! That’s fun, isn’t it! It’s a guest performance by Nathan Sykes, whi I’ve never heard of and can’t be bothered to look up. Apparently he was in The Wanted. For those of you who can’t remember The Wanted, they were a laboratory-developed boyband grown purely for parts. Lucky for Nathan that Harry Styles never lost an arm in a speedboating accident, or this wet-mouthed dipstick wouldn’t be here today.
No joke, this is the worst night of my life. I might just stop writing now. I mean, this is just a colossal waste of my time, isn’t it? I’m liveblogging the fourth successive recap of something I’ve already liveblogged. This is the absolute definition of redundancy, isn’t it? What horrible decisions have I made in my life to justify having to liveblog this dead pig of a television programme twice a week? Seriously. This is such a waste of everyone’s time.
Oh WHAT THE EFFING CHUFF IS THIS? Another recap. It’s another recap. Literally another recap, even though we just saw a recap.
And now that’s finished too. Everything ends, doesn’t it? Everything comes to an end, and barely anyone notices.
Still, it’s over and now it’s time for the group song. They’re doing We Found Love In A Hopeless Place. It’s very tender, and then Reggie N Bollie come on and ruin it all by pinging about like a couple of taurined-up toddlers. The point I’m trying to make is that I love Reggie N Bollie with all my heart.
I hate recaps so much that I don’t even want anyone to discuss my life at my own funeral, on the basis that it technically counts as a recap and I couldn’t do that to the people I love.
I hate recaps
Shall we have a recap now? What’s that? No? Because we’ve already watched last night’s episode, and last night’s episode already contained a recap of last night’s recap, and then today’s episode opened with a recap of last night’s episode and so we need a recap now like we need to be thrown under a bus and then mauled alive by tigers? That’s a good point.
Shall we meet the judges?
NICK! Wearing a smoking jacket
RITA! Wearing a net curtain
CHERYL! Wearing two hundredweight of sticky tape
SIMON! Wearing the glumly resigned expression of a beaten man
Here they are, Sassy Squits and Blardigan. What will their schtick be tonight? If you guessed ‘history’s most cackhanded high-five’ then you my friend guessed RIGHT.
Last night: Again, at the risk of repeating myself, it was just a load of shouting. Shouting and disappointment. Mainly disappointment.
IT’S TIME! TO FACE! THE ADVERTS!
SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY
Welcome back to the X Factor liveblog: the Sunday Night Results Show Afterthought. Yes, there’s still a Sunday night results show tonight, even though someone was already eliminated last night. This is god’s way of punishing you for leading a wicked life.
Anyway, Mason Noise finally got the boot last night, but that’s not all. Tonight, another act will also be a lemmo tated. Who will it be? We won’t know until we’ve had to sit through a billion recaps, three billion adverts, a performance by one of the people from The Wanted who isn’t on Strictly this year and King Blardigan himself. And then some more adverts.
It’ll be fun! Well, obviously it won’t fun, but at least it’ll be relatively short. Come back here at 8pm. I demand it.
Updated
And that’s it for another Saturday of adverts and recaps. Thanks, everyone! Join me back here at 8pm tomorrow for the Sunday night results show, with guest performances and a lemon nation and the upsetting sight of Blardigan trying to verbally explain basic Year 7 maths to a contemptuous nation with a terrified look on his face. It should be fun. It won’t be, but it should be. Bye!
Mason says that he’s ready to meet his fans. That’s because his next job is going to be as a sales assistant in Discount World Of Fans, a rundown air conditioning retail unit in Hertfordshire.
Poor Mason Noise. I knew his cousin, Getta Propajob. I knew his cousin, Yor Notgonnabemissed. I knew his cousin, Thersda Dor.
MASON NOISE HAS BEEN ELIMINATED.
Reggie ‘N’ Bollie are through!
Louisa is also safe. This is tedious. It’s like going to a supermarket and listing all the products you don’t want to buy.
And Che Chesterman isn’t eliminated.
Oh god. They’re stringing this out. So... Lauren isn’t eliminated.
Right. Time to a lemmo nate someone. For god’s sake, nobody let Blardigan near a microphone.
There’s an advert for SOMETHING, and it’s the story of a woman trying to teach her daughter about inspiring women. They Google ‘Women who rock’ and then watch a video about Paloma Faith. I think the tagline was ‘Never trust the internet’, but I might be wrong.
Oh no. I think Ed Sheeran might actually be OK. He was the first person to say how stupid the confetti was. OOH, maybe we can do a job swap. He can slag off X Factor for a living and I can stop brushing my hair. Sounds like a good deal, doesn’t it.
This is a real and true confession: I’m determined to go the rest of my life without meeting Ed Sheeran. Imagine if you met him, and he turned out to be nice. It’d be heartbreaking, wouldn’t it?
Oh, during this song – which isn’t very good – they’ve swamped Ed with shredded toilet paper. I think the plan was for him to be sweatier than he is now, because then it would have coated him and there would have been a papier mache Ed Sheeran at the end and someone would have got to ritually destroy it.
And now here’s a guest appearance by Ed Sheeran and Rudimental. I mean, ITV could have done the decent thing and ended the show five minutes early and filled the dead time with the sound of breaking glass and crying babies, but oh no. Here’s Ed Bloody Sheeran instead. Thanks a lot, ITV. This is why nobody watches you. Well, this and that Paul O’Grady dog programme.
Yep. We’re all one minute closer to death. Thanks X Factor!
One minute until the votes are frozen. That one minute will be spent asking annoyingly softball questions to the judges.
Now for this year’s House of Fraser Christmas advert. Both of my parents took me aside this year to tell me that they thought it was a bit weird. They told me this during an episode of the daytime BBC drama Doctors.
Tresemme adverts are the new yoghurt adverts. I love them so much. ‘I only have a few minutes to create a memorable style’ says Mr Tresemme. So he washes a woman’s hair and then brushes it. TRESEMME!
What impresses me most about Reggie ‘N’ Bollie, you know, is that they jump around so much while wearing big leather jackets. I tried dancing my son to sleep in a moderately lightweight sweater the other night and I ended up drenched in sweat. What I’m trying to say, I think, is that Reggie ‘N’ Bollie must STINK.
Half an hour left. My predicted breakdown: eight minutes of recaps, two minutes of elimination, three minutes of guest performances, 17 minutes of adverts.
Right. All the acts have performed. You now have ten minutes to make sure that Reggie ‘N’ Bollie don’t get eliminated today or SO HELP ME GOD.
Simon says that Reggie ‘N’ Bollie will be in the final. Nick, determined to outdo his fellow judge, more or less calls them the literal antidote to Isis.
I WOULD QUITE LIKE REGGIE 'N' BOLLIE TO WIN X FACTOR PLEASE
There. I said it.
I mean, it’s the absolute opposite of everything else that’s happened on this poxy show. They’re upbeat, they’re fun. they don’t look as if they’re performing with guns to their heads like everyone else. Right, that’s it. I’m making an official statement. And I’m making it in a key event.
Reggie ’N’ Bollie are doing the same thing that Reggie ‘N’ Bollie always do, which is basically shouting over the top of a malfunctioning Now That’s What I Call Zumba CD. And, please don’t hate me, but it’s good.
In the VT, one of Reggie ‘N’ Bollie visits their child for their very first birthday, before immediately leaving again to be the novelty act on a dying talent show.
Finally it’s Reggie ’N’ Bollie, the Megashark Vs Giant Octopus remake of that Where Me Keys Where Me Phone man from Britain’s Got Talent a few years ago.
Rita Ora doesn’t say that Louisa is 17. BOO RITA ORA, LEARN THE BLOODY RULES.
Nick Grimshaw also says that Louisa is 17. He says that Louisa is 17 three times.
Simon also says that Louisa is 17 years old.
It wasn’t very good. Cheryl says that Louisa is 17. Then she says it again.
The good news is that Louisa is mixing things up by performing on a plinth suspended above the audience. The bad news is that, as soon as she gets down, The Guilty Remnant from The Leftovers are going to brainwash her into their creepy death-cult.
Louisa Johnson is singing the billionth James Bay song of the series, and is therefore essentially busting a gut to breathe life into a song that sounds like a cup of cold piss.
Time for Louisa Johnson now, who remains a woman who exists. I can’t wait to see what excitement she’s been getting up to this week. Has she used an iPad? Has she smiled at a dog? Did she use a door? I can’t wait!!
Oh, this week she stared at the words ‘Talk Talk’ on a screen because contractual obligation is currently the most viable aspect of her personality.
Mason Noise penis-touching update
@stuheritage 18 willy touches by Mason Noise tonight. He's beaten his willy touches more than last week. #XFactor
— Simon Ritchie (@Weirdyweirdtwit) November 21, 2015
And now for an Amazon advert where a man made of cardboard boxes runs at the screen. I think the message is ‘Buy things from Amazon or we’ll set this faceless beast on you next’, but it wasn’t verbalised.
Blardigan is backstage. ‘What is love to you?’ he asks Reggie ‘N’ Bollie, which I hope is the introduction of a new X Factor format point called Blardigan Philosophy.
Next week: Mason Noise, Can Animals Understand Empathy?
Then, the week after: Oi, Che Chesterman, Do You Ever Sometimes Think That You’re The Only Living Organism In The Universe And Reality Is Just A Construct You’ve Internally Projected Upon Your Consciousness To Stave Off The Constant Agony Of Loneliness?
The judges are being quite mean to Mason Noise, and the only reaction to their criticism is one woman in the audience who keeps saying ‘boo’. She isn’t booing, you understand. She is saying the word ‘boo’. Quite quietly, too.
Oh, wait, an update: Mason Noise is also touching his penis. I hate this awful joke of a life.
Mason’s doing a song that I’m reliably informed is by a Jonas Brother. I’m so old. I’m so old. His brief for the evening was to be sexy, which might explain why he’s wearing a shellsuit next to four girls who have all got their bums out.
Mason Noise now. I know his cousin, Y.R.U Stillhere. I know his cousin, Godyor Obnoxious. I know his cousin, Ihaytma Stupidjob.
X Factor has now ground to a halt while there’s a discussion about whether or not Olly Murs has kissed Caroline Flack. They say they’ve never kissed, and I believe them. Kissing takes basic motor skills, and this is Blardigan we’re talking about.
Interesting theory in the comments: Nick, Rita and Cheryl are collectively dressed as the French flag tonight. It’s a touching gesture if it’s correct, although slightly let down by the fact that Simon Cowell has come dressed as the world’s grubbiest flagpole.
There’s an EE advert now, where Kevin Bacon literally has to bark like a dog. I’m assuming he did that because it would have been too grisly to have him literally claw every atom of dignity from his body and then fart on it.
Simon is angry because the backdrop had nothing to do with the song. How do you make an appropriate backdrop to a song called We Belong Together? A cup of wee tied to a really long bee. THAT’S HOW. EMPLOY ME X FACTOR, GOD DAMN YOU.
This isn’t good as such, but it isn’t as abjectly terrible as anything else we’ve heard so far either. Maybe Lauren can actually win this series. I mean, if she did, all of X Factor would have to be encased in a lead tomb and blasted out to space where it can’t hurt people any more. But maybe she can.
Lauren, standing on a plinth made of coathangers and glitter, is doing We Belong Together by Mariah Carey. She’s singing it to the British voting public, which at this point consists of one slightly embittered 43-year-old shut-in in his pants. He’s too drunk to hear you, Lauren. He’s way too drunk.
Now it’s time for The Ghost of Lauren Murray, here to sing a vaguely recognisable song in a basically adequate way purely to fill a bit of time between adverts. It’s this sort of red-hot charisma that’s made X Factor such a runaway television sensation.
In the VT, Lauren does such a good impression of Stacey Slater from EastEnders that I want X Factor to end now and be replaced by a show called World Of Staceys, where loads of brunette women just shriek at each other hoarsely for an hour.
There’s a weird tension to the whole show tonight. Simon said something very slightly critical about the song choice, and Cheryl pulled EXACTLY the same face that Deirdre Barlow pulled that time she found out she was going to prison. I really don’t think that everyone’s going to get out of this show alive.
I’m so confused by 4th Impact. Together, they sounds brilliant. Individually, they sound fully dreadful. This song is them mostly singing individually, and is therefore roughly the equivalent of a thousand years spent having your eyeballs clawed at by lizards.
4th Impact are singing Ain’t No Other Man by Christina Aguilera, because it’s Heartbreak week and nothing is more heartbreaking that a bunch of girls on a stage against their will mimicking the sound of a stabbed cow.
In the VT, 4th Impact all express sadness that they’re so far away from home, which has the unintentional effect of making them look like they’re here performing against their will. And now I’m sad.
We’re back. Next up: 4th Impact, who I like but can’t remember why. Still, at least nobody has a more suddenly inappropriate name than them this year, unless of course Che Chesterman suddenly decides to rebrand himself Hooray For Bombs.
Adverts now. No Moon Hitler. No dumb supermarket cat. No yoghurt adverts. Remember when X Factor was all yoghurt adverts? X Factor was better then. Here’s a theory: yoghurt adverts are to X Factor as the ravens are to the Tower of London.
Oh christ this is uncomfortable. Anton is crying and stuttering. He’s angry, and he keeps apologising to everyone. This is really hard to watch. And this is happening on X Factor, which is pretty hard to watch at the best of times. MORAL: never perform with a haunted plinth.
Nick Grimshaw said that Anton’s song was rubbish, and Anton FULLY lost his mind. ‘THIS IS ALL REAL! I AM NOT AN ACT!’ he screamed at nobody in particular, pointing at his coat. So Anton’s coat exists. This is the most exciting piece of information I’ve heard since the show began.
This is weird. This like a Phantom of the Opera outtake. There are haunted plinths and everything. And now everything’s caught fire. Also, this is also a bad song and it’s a horrible performance and Anton sounds as if he’s singing it inside one of those fitness machines from the 1970s that shook your fat loose on a belt.
Anton’s singing One Sweet Day by Mariah Carey. It’s a heartbreaking song for because he knows that one sweet day he’ll exist purely as the answer to a regional pub quiz question that nobody will get right. BANTZ.
Now for Anton Stephans; a man slowly coming to terms with the fact that people don’t like him as much as Mason Noise. Imagine dealing with something like that. I’m half expecting Anton to just walk out onstage tonight and repeatedly punch himself in the face for three minutes.
In the VT, Anton has an emotional reunion with his dog. Then he looks sad. Then nothing else happens. Hope that helps.
Blardigan just tried to say O.K, but he said A.Ks.
Were they listening to the same song that I was? Because that was a bad song sung badly, and I am definitely right and I’ll fight anyone who disagrees with me.
Rita says that she forgot what song she was listening to. Cheryl said that she had to stop herself from crying during it. Simon says that Che is turning into an artist and it’s literally all I can do not to make a Rolf Harris joke.
Actually, to be more specific, Che is singing the version of Yesterday that you hear when you ring the world’s worst jazz club and they put you on hold. He is literally making the exact noise that someone would make if they slipped and fell off a horse at the top of a frozen staircase. It is awful, Che is awful, X Factor is awful and everyone should feel very ashamed of themselves.
Che’s singing Yesterday by The Beatles. Quick straw poll of judges who won’t have heard of this song? Rita. Rita’s going to definitely be one of them, isn’t she?
Che Chesterman is singing first. He’s called Che Chesterman, of course, because he was bitten by a radioactive chester as a schoolboy and oh god I’m so tired.
In the VT, Che reveals that he’s got a girlfriend. Say goodbye to the female teen vote, Che, because you’ve just broken my heart.
Let’s meet the judges!
NICK! Wearing a flooded carpet
RITA! Wearing her dad’s suit
CHERYL! Wearing the corpse of Jessica Rabbit
SIMON! Wearing the same old nonsense
Blardigan walks onstage and pretends to propose to Flack. Either that or he fell over and tried to eat her hand. PLUS: he said that someone would be ‘a lemmo tated’ tonight. Oh Blardigan.
Updated
OOOOOH, there’s an a lemon nation tonight. That’s exciting news. You know, relatively. Look guys, this is all I’ve got. Let me have this.
Last week: just shouting, really. Just a load of shouting. Forever. It was basically like putting a metal bucket on your head and asking all the kids from the neighbouring village to batter you with sticks.
IT’S BLARD! TO GAN! THE MURRSIC!
X FACTOR STARTS IN 13 MINUTES
There, a key event. Happy now, fatcatrules?
Do you think they hold a ballot for the Strictly Come Dancing studio audience? Do you think they line everyone up and make them clap along to a piece of music, and everyone who manages it gets sent home?
I am watching Strictly Come Dancing and I have a genuine question. Is the contrast broken on my telly or did the spraytan machine malfunction this week? All the dancers look as if they’ve been pelted with animal diarrhoea.
HI EVERYONE. GREAT TO BE BACK.
Hello strangers, and welcome to the X Factor liveblog. Hannah did a brilliant job last week, but I’ve been dragged back into the fray.
How could I not? I watched last Sunday’s results show on catch-up and saw what a full-scale, 18-lane, slack-jawed, flop-armed, catastrophic cack-and-feathers pile-up Blardigan made of the elimination announcement, and I was jealous. I was actually jealous that I wasn’t around to mock him. So that’s where we are. I’m back to join my fellow X Factor, and I couldn’t be happier about it. Well, I could, obviously, but let’s not split hairs.
We’re over halfway with the live finals now, and the finalists are diminished in number. I still wouldn’t be able to tell you what any of them are called, but tonight’s show is barely over an hour and a half long, so I’m all for it. Once again, I don’t know what this week’s theme is and I’m probably 15 years too old to know what any of the songs are called, but when has that ever stopped me?
I’ll be back here at 8pm to kick this thing off. If you could join me, that would be just terrific.
