Sorry, no, all it shows is that your life is mediocre

I've been a bit surprised by just how seriously people have been taking X Factor this year. I know it's a popular show and all, but I think this year is the first time I've really noticed it because for the first time we've had someone in the house who is obsessed by it.

The front pages of the papers today included a story about a spat between Simon Cowell and a contestant, a hissy fit by Dannii Minogue, and more stuff about those annoying twins.

Apparently lots of people think this kind of reportage is necessary. Our incumbent lodger has decided she's not going to watch the show with certain other of our friends because, and I quote, "they don't treat it with the respect it's due."

Well, no, neither do I. Mainly because it's a bit hard to wipe your arse on the telly.

And then there's the Xtra Factor, possibly the nadir of ramschackle poorly-thought out moronicity designed to keep the gibbering proles happy in their mundane little lives. I had to sit in the same room while that show was on and could feel it sucking the intelligence out of me. I had to leave. Any longer and I would become the kind of meusli-brained human beanbag who thinks this kind of drivel in any way constitutes culture.

I don't mind seeing people sing. I think dragging out the show to two hours is a bit much, but I could just about put up with that. The thing that's really turning me off, though, is, I'm sorry to say, the fans.

It's just not that important, sorry. I enjoy it as entertaining fluff. But to get passionate about it is just daft. The world is full of injustices that should make you so angry you get off your arse and raise hell until something is done.

The mystery of who is voting for Jedward just isn't worth the ranting.