And so another year rolls around, and thousands of orphans will be performing song-and-dance routines, begging you not to turn your back on them, like everyone else they ever gave a damn about has.

Early reports suggest that a quartet of hookers could be the next Pussycat Dolls, but no doubt they will be usurped at some point by a sniveling effeminate teen who has promised his dying nan that he will win X Factor for her. Regardless that she’s never seen it. It’s the television highlight of the autumn, and yet, they never quite get the winner right.

In a perfect world, these people would all be trillionaires…

Series One, Rowetta Satchell

In the same manner as David in Big Brother, Rowetta was a big northerner with no volume control on her own voice, and she seemed a little bit brain damaged. Some of which could possibly be explained by her years on the road with The Happy Mondays, who absolutely adored taking heroin. Still, when she really let loose on a song, it was like being in the company of a roaring angel who was attempting to seduce you, and yet she lost out to Steve Brookstein – a man who always looked like he might just have some condoms in his pocket.

Series Two, Chico Slimani

Series Two was won by Shayne Ward, who specialised in singing very sensually, with his eyes fixed on the camera. Unfortunately, any sense of young sophistication was totally obliterated when his family came into shot, and appeared to be getting pissed up and groping one another. He should never have won. In the perfect world, Chico would have got through, not just because he was a goat farmer who liked showing women his gentlemanly penis, but because he wrote his own songs. What time is it? Then you say, “Chico time!”

Series Three, Eton Road

Leona Lewis was an unworthy winner. We base this on the fact that her pre-song wave was as limp and pathetic as an amoeba’s flannel. In fact, it was barely even a wave, more like a really shy mouse timidly attempting to catch the attention of a passing bus. It was a stupid wave. Certainly not a winners wave. Yet, over in Louis’ camp, Eton Road had a real winner’s wave – arms almost completely vertical in the air, strong, solid, confident. Plus they had Anthony and The Johnsons on lead vocals.

Series Four, Rhydian Roberts

No doubt about it, that Leon kid shouldn’t have won. He was totally crap. The only reason anyone appeared to like him was because he’d attended the first audition alone. There’s a sign there. Perhaps that no one back home thought he could sing very well? Still, win he did, leaving the entire nation agog that Rhydian the opera maniac hadn’t got it, or, at the very least, that podgy dinner lady who found her dead father clutching his heart with one hand, and the entry forms with the other. How we never tired of that story.

Series Five, Ruth Lorenzo

Last year, Alexandra Burke was actually the third or fourth best female solo singer. There was the crackhead who kept threatening to brick Dannii in the face, the hiccupping hippy girl who spent the weekday evenings smearing butter all over the little singing boy’s weird torso, the amazing jazz singer who was banging the producer. And then there was Ruth Lorenzo, who had big juicy bosoms, and managed to scream her way through an impressive rendition of Purple Rain. She should have won. Her or the jazz one.

This fat wedge of TRUTH was a guest blog from Josh Burt from Interestment. That’s right, be impressed.

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