There have been a couple of musical collaborations throughout the course of history that have stunk of poo.

Sometimes there are two things you’d never imagine recording together to see how it sounds. Cats and pencil sharpeners, dogs and electricity and small children and small pieces of glass will all have dire consequences.

But what happens when something we all know will be utter rubbish comes together? Pending crapness is the answer. Just ask Rolf Harris and that Hollie Steel girl from Britain’s Got Talent who kept on crying.

Rolf Harris is a successful artist, musician and an Australian who isn’t working behind the bar in one of England’s many pubs. He’s most famous for his song Two Little Boys which does exactly what it says on the cover. It’s all about two young children. But unlike today’s society, the tune isn’t about Rolf getting his head kicked in after refusing to buy two ASBO-ridden children a cheap bottle of cider.

Other skills that Rolf have all involve music. Amazingly, he can blow down a big stick and make funny noises out of it. For the innocent among you, it looks like a giant recorder. Or, for the many of our dirty minded readers, he’s making sweet music by blowing a giant cock.

Compared to the godlike genius that is Rolf Harris, Hollie Steel is a child. That really is about it. When Britain’s Got Talent rolled back onto our screens for a third series this year, Hollie somehow made the final. We say somehow because there’s really nothing special about her – up and down the land, there are thousands of other bratty children who randomly burst into tears when they don’t get their own way. Rolf Harris and Hollie Steel may have no connection at all, but according to Digital Spy:

“We have just heard that Rolf wants to do a single with her. It’s a new song that Rolf has written about a grandfather and granddaughter.”

What? Are the two somehow related? Did a dingo abduct and savagely eat Rolf Harris’s grandchildren? Has our Rolf thrown a dart at a map of famous children and selected Hollie? Granted, Gary Coleman was Rolf’s first choice, but one of his aides had to inform him that Gary is just a shrunken grown up. Hollie’s pushy mother also added:

“Hollie is a big fan of Rolf, especially when he was doing Animal Hospital.”

Ahh, Animal Hospital, there was TV at its most cheery. Who can forget the sight of Snuffles the dog being scraped up off the pavement? Or the hilarious adventures of Cuddles the hamster who ended up being a part of the vet’s BBQ after he tragically died of a heart attack. And then there was the dismal sight of an ageing Australian wiping the tears out of his beard as he flushed another fish down the toilet.

If this song ever comes to be, we’re going to contact Lee Ryan and ask if he fancies recording something together. But we won’t ask him to write the lyrics, we wouldn’t be able to read his wacky dyslexic ways.

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We dreamed a dream once. It involved us being dipped in Belgian chocolate and then being placed in the middle of a field full of cows and sheep.

Don’t ask us what happened next, but suffice to say we don’t see those animals in the same way we once did. They’re not as cuddly and cute as the books make out.

Someone else who is all about dreams is Scottish mentalist Susan Boyle. While we don’t really want to know what goes on inside her head, she has sung I Dreamed A Dream a few times. Granted, it’s only been twice but the entire population of the world will have seen it now. Dermot O’Leary wants to pimp her out on X Factor. Hopefully she’ll sing another song. In the style of Slipknot. She probably won’t.

As everyone knows, Susan Boyle can sing and she does this fairly well. So much so that if she was placed in a competition alongside you, she would win. Subsequently you would lose and then cry and piss yourself if you were very low on confidence. Not because she can belt out a better tune than you. It’s all down to the fact that you got beaten by a virgin who has a best friend that’s a cat. In many ways, Susan Boyle is like a singing Postman Pat.

But is everyone getting a bit sick of Susan Boyle? It’s like we’ve seen her entire life story over the course of a few months. Sadly, we can’t describe it as a rollercoaster ride that we want to be a part of. The summary of Susan Boyle is as follows:

* Upon seeing her, everyone on Britain’s Got Talent initially throws apples at her. However, they were digitally edited it out when the show was broadcast.

* We all got a shock and realised she was good.

* The press milked her for a bit and everyone got bored of her.

* She lost the final and went a bit crazy. Almost so, that she may have nearly ate her cat. Or maybe we made that bit up.

After Britain’s Got Talent had finished and Simon Cowell had finished counting his money, you’d expect Susan Boyle to fade into oblivion, wouldn’t you? Well to some extent we are right; she waltzed in to a nuthouse for a few days and then emerged a bit less mental.

But the reality show train that gave birth to Susan Boyle is set to continue with the jiggling Scottish star set to appear on another Cowell creation, X Factor. Don’t worry though, perverts – lovely Cheryl Cole hasn’t been replaced. A show insider has been quoted as saying:

“Programme bosses want the Britain’s Got Talent runner-up to mentor finalists in the over-25 group and perform alongside the singers.”

Or, if they wanted to put it in straightforward terms. “The new category for people who will go a little bit loopy and will end up licking the curtains, thinking it’s a giant boiled sweet.” Imagine it! With the advice from a happy clappy Scot, you’ll soon be able to overcome your fears and only have the occasional public meltdown!

Don’t you love show business?

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Are you still there? Hello? Is anyone still reading this after glancing at the title? We’re sorry to disappoint you. This isn’t about Susan Boyle.

Unfortunately, she hasn’t tried to drink the blood of an Englishman or had multiple botox injections.

To depress you further, this isn’t about the winners of the 2009 final, Diversity, either. Frankly, they don’t have a decent sob story, so we’re not interested. Instead, we’re going to divert our attention to Fred Bowers, who appeared on the show. Don’t know who he is? What about when we say body-popping, breakdancing pensioner Fred Bowers?

In our eyes, Fred Bowers should have won Britain’s Got Talent. Think about it, he was one of the most diverse acts there. What did you expect him to do? Throw up his zimmer frame and catch it? Or did you simply think all pensioners are totally useless and should be all forced to live on an island together?

When Fred wandered onto the stage, no-one thought he was going to pull off some badass moves that Britain’s Got Talent fans only associate with George Sampson. The loveable pensioner proceeded to wiggle his ageing body across the stage to everyone’s amazement. Not every person of his age can do that, can they? But there are hundreds of dance crews like Diversity and mental singers like Susan Boyle who need some exposure.

In all the excitement, the newest badass on the scene forgot about a dirty little secret he had tucked away. Fred claimed for disability benefit due to an injury he suffered in the war. Annoyingly, he can’t move more than a hundred yards at a time. Though he is oddly able to shake it like a Polaroid picture when the stagelights are focussed on him.

Because he appeared on a show where roughly twelve million people watched him, a bright spark at the Department for Work and Pensions (DWP) realised he might be committing fraud. They’ve subsequently pulled the plug on poor Fred’s £70 a week pension for being a bit of a cripple and this hasn’t gone down well. Fred moaned to the BBC:

“I’ve still got an actual disability and I can’t walk very far but I can still dance. I use my head and back more while I’m dancing. I’m a comedian while I am up on stage, it makes people laugh. I just want to make people happy.”

In a day and age where people get locked up for telling children to be quiet at 1am when they’re throwing bricks at your house, we feel Fred is doing nothing wrong. He is an old man who had bugger all else to do with his life and has done wonders but amaze us with his free-flowing moves.

If all old people were as interesting as Fred Bowers, we’d stop getting annoyed with them when they take forever to pick a first or second class stamp in the post office. Fred Bowers, we salute you and hope your benefit is reinstated with a few extra quid attached to it.

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Hey kids! Do you like being spoon fed popular culture that you’ll eventually get sick of when the next talented young thing comes along? You do?

Well that’s that bloody fantastic. You might have heard of Simon Cowell. He’s a man who wants to destroy the way we consume music and make us all buy the same drivel every year.

So far, Simon and his team of chuckling sidekicks known as Louis Walsh, Cheryl Cole, Danni Minogue and former monkey Sharon Osbourne have introduced us to annoying twerps such as The Cheeky Girls, Chico, Leona Lewis, Leon Jackson, Michelle McManus and Alexandra Burke. Honestly, each time we hear their songs, we jizz in excitement. We’ll have to reload our ballsacks a bit quicker – Simon is combining both of his primetime shows!

In the beginning there was X Factor. A show full of deluded morons who thought they could get a number one hit. That’s get a number one and definitely not become famous and get exploited by Simon Cowell’s evil empire of PR staff, producers, assistants and tea makers.

Once X Factor was rumbled as a show that only young people can win, Simon Cowell came up with another TV programme. Called Britain’s Got Talent, the show was open to anyone of any age to showcase their skills to the most pointless person in the country, The Queen.

Britain’s Got Talent has certainly showcased a random selection of supposed acts. In series one, the eventual winner was Paul Potts. A man who didn’t look the sort to be an opera singer. However, like the late Pavarotti, he was a pork pie’s worst nightmare, so we have to give him that. Series two saw the singers step back and the dancers take over. George Sampson did some sort of spinny thing to win the hearts of the nation and subsequently got himself involved in pointless feuds with X Factor singers. Specifically the stupidly-named Eoghan Quinn.

This year on Britain’s Got Talent, it was a final battle between Scottish mentalist Susan Boyle and dance group Diversity. Not even world wide exposure could save the singer from finishing second to a group of dancers who actually did a different routine in the final compared to Susan Boyle who sang the same annoying Les Miserables song. She could have at least stuck a hip-hop beat underneath it or remixed it jungle style.

After bashing his head on a wall or stealing a runner’s idea, Simon Cowell has now decided he’ll combine the two shows together to form a super monster of a reality show. X Factor will still see Simon Cowell, Louis Walsh, Cheryl Cole and Danni Minogue but during the boot camp round, MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC CAN JOIN IN TO SEE WHO HAS ANY CREDIBLE SINGING VOICE. Digital Spy reports:

“Fans can apply for tickets to watch the redesigned audition process in London, Birmingham, Manchester, Cardiff and Glasgow on ApplauseStore.com. A message on the site reads: “Simon Cowell opens the doors to the Scottish auditions and exclusively invites YOU to join him and all the judges to help them find out who really does have the X Factor 2009.”

So what does this mean?

1) With boot camp filmed in June and the first round auditions not being broadcast on ITV until August, it’s likely information will leak out on who got through. Unless Simon Cowell threatens everyone with death.

2) The process won’t work as the crowd will piss off the judges with their buzzers.

3) It’ll be classed as a failed experiment. Just like when Kelly Brooke was asked to judge Britain’s Got Talent.

No doubt X Factor 2009 will be billed as the biggest ever. All we ask is that they so something different. You know, we had Leona Lewis win in 2006 and her clone Alexander Burke in 2008. Can we at least have a group triumph this year? We don’t want any slip ups like crying boy Leon Jackson back in 2007.

Ta.

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Do you have tickets for the Britain’s Got Talent tour? You do? Then that means you’re definitely one of the following.

You’re either a) really, really fond of street dance, or b) an actual idiot. And since, technically, the former is a subsection of the latter, you’re basically an idiot either way. Unless you’re going because you’re related to that creepy saxophone man, in which case you have our profound sympathies.

Or maybe you wanted to see Susan Boyle perform live. Well tough titties – Susan Boyle pulled out of her show in Manchester last night because doctors told her to.

Let’s be honest for a moment. Anyone who bought tickets to the Britain’s Got Talent tour did so for one reason and one reason only – to witness the phenomenon that is Susan Boyle in the flesh. Now that could be because the purity of her vocals during her initial performance of I Dreamed A Dream showed you a level of beauty that you never thought possible, or it could be because you were hoping she’d go mental in the chorus and frenziedly beat someone in the front row unconscious with her microphone stand, but you’d still only be going to see Susan Boyle.

But anyone who went to last night’s Britain’s Got Talent show in Manchester to see the full Susan Boyle experience – the voice, the eyebrows, the blank thousand-yard death-stare of a woman clearly uncomfortable with her predicament – went home feeling let down after they were told that their hairy hero wouldn’t be performing under medical orders to rest.

Which is fair enough, really – the scrutiny that Susan Boyle has come under in recent months would be troubling for anyone, and the poor woman only left her private clinic a few days ago, so it’s only reasonable that she should occasionally take some time off for the benefit of her mental health. Luckily the Britain’s Got Talent crowd are just as compassionate and thoughtful about this issue as you’d expect them to be, as Sky News reports:

The rest of this year’s finalists performed to rapturous applause from the 5,700-strong crowd. But boos filled the arena after presenter Stephen Mulhern told the audience that Boyle would not be performing before a video clip of her “journey” was played on stage. The crowd voiced their dismay when show host Mulhern said he hoped Boyle would recover in time for the rest of the tour.

Yes, that is exactly as compassionate and thoughtful as we expected them to be.

Anyway, we don’t know what all the fuss is about. So Susan Boyle is too mentally fragile to sing two songs in front of thousands of people who possibly only bought tickets to boo her anyway. So what? The Britain’s Got Talent tour still represents amazing value for money – where else can you see a fat bloke take his top off and run around in circles with his fat topless son? Nowhere, that’s where.

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You know Susan Boyle, she’s the frumpy women who looks like a diner lady and bored the tits off everyone during Britain’s Got Talent.

Like everyone, we assumed that she would crumble and fizzle on stage due to Simon Cowell’s stare that basically means “you are rubbish and I can’t exploit you for money”.

Despite the show being stretched across an eight-week period, Susan Boyle kept on gaining the world’s attention. Famous people like Demi Moore and Barack Obama gave her support and YouTube nearly broke under the strain of people viewing her. However, she didn’t win and ended up going a bit mental. But it’s OK – she’s taken some happy medicine and everything is all merry again.

The only thing we can think of when a Scottish person tries to take over is during the film Braveheart. Mel Gibson did a crap job of playing old military fighter William Wallace who was a bit pissed off that the English killed his ladyfriend. If Susan Boyle was to replicate this and ride through city centres slaying non-believers and placing their heads on a pike, we’d have much more respect for her.

However, people are a bit more civil these days and a barbaric beheading is now replaced with a bottle of alcopops being smashed across someone’s face. The pressures of being transformed from an unknown middle-aged virgin into a world-renowned middle-aged virgin proved too much for poor Susan Boyle. During the build-up to the Britain’s Got Talent final, she got a bit angry. After being pestered by people, she said a few swearwords and ended up having a strop with the police. But did she get an ASBO? No!

After losing the final of the competition to Diversity, the Scottish wobbler seemed to take it fairly well. She even mustered a smile, but still flashed her thigh to the nation, therefore stuffing any hopes she had of being penetrated by the opposite sex. Even worse for her, she was taken to the nuthouse to be poked and prodded by various doctors. Something Susan probably thought was sex.

After everyone slagged off reality TV for causing the meltdown of Susan Boyle and making a small child cry on stage, the panic is over! Susan is OK! She has officially been classed as normal and will be unleashed on the public when the Britain’s Got Talent circus tours round the UK and eastern European petrol stations.

After being set loose in the real world again where she can hunt down a mate, Boyle said:

“I feel bloody fantastic. I want to take on the world. I’ve got my sleeves up ready. From now on there’s nae crap.”

Christ on a bike indeed! She really does mean business. Not only is she keeping her traditional Scottish roots and saying “nae” but she also said another swear word. It might not be the worst c word, but it’s a start for our Susan. We hear she’s going to jazz up musicals with all kinds of filthy language, all whilst smashing up her stage set up.

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So, Susan Boyle. Is it television’s fault that she ended up in a clinic? The public’s fault? The media’s?

It doesn’t matter. The fact is that Susan Boyle – a woman with a particularly evident mental fragility – found the stress of being famous too much to take, and we’re all complicit. We need to remember that under all the showbiz glitz are real people with real emotions that need to be respec… WHAT’S THAT?

Susan Boyle’s out of treatment? BRILLIANT! You sort out her album and punishing promotional schedule and we’ll score the heartbreaking front-page tell-all interview! WE’RE ALL RICH AGAIN!

Susan Boyle has been on one hell of a journey lately. Since Easter – thanks to her ability to not wax her eyebrows, sing a showtune adequately and behave in a retrospectively troubling way all at once – Susan Boyle has gone from a nobody to a megastar to the focus of a virulent backlash to a rehab-bound exile. It’s basically the Lindsay Lohan story in fast-forward, only with funnier eyebrows and actual fame.

The last time Susan Boyle was seen in public, it was during the final of Britain’s Got Talent where she did her best impression of a version of Les Miserables as exclusively performed by a jittery bunch of dead-eyed, shellshocked Vietnam veterans. Since then Susan Boyle has been holed up in The Priory receiving treatment for exhaustion, leaving the rest of us to work out who’s to blame for the mess. Personally we’re going for Piers Morgan, by the way, because blaming Piers Morgan for every single bad thing on the face of the Earth just feels sort of right.

Anyway, we can stop the blame game now, because Susan Boyle has left The Priory and she’s apparently back to her old self – which presumably means she’s acting like someone with an adorable Forrest Gump-style learning disability rather than someone with an upsetting Shine-style learning difficulty. Earlier today Susan Boyle’s brother conformed the news, as The Guardian reports:

“She’s much happier. She seems a lot more like herself.” Gerry Boyle said Susan had spoken to people who had assured her it “wasn’t the end” for her singing career after finishing second in the contest. “Things are becoming clearer for her now,” he added. “She’s now beginning to believe that, ‘Yes indeed, I will be a singer’.”

Oh, that’s tremendous news. No, really. We’re thrilled that Susan Boyle is back on the path to fame and fortune, because she’s already proved how brilliant she is at dealing with fame, hasn’t she? Still, Susan Boyle does stand to make a lot of people a lot of money, so she has no choice in the matter. It’s back on the horse for her.

Maybe Susan’s handlers can take a leaf out of Britney Spears‘ book. After all, Britney is no more fit to go on tour than Susan Boyle is, but she’s still selling out arenas everywhere she goes. Perhaps the secret is to build an elaborate stageshow around Susan Boyle where her only involvement is a bit of miming and the occasional vagina-flash. We’d definitely pay to watch that.

No, actually, wait. We wouldn’t. We definitely wouldn’t. We’re not animals.

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Let this be a lesson about the dangers of fame. Or the dangers of Simon Cowell. Or the dangers of singing showtunes with a monobrow.

Susan Boyle has entered The Priory to be treated for the special kind of emotional exhaustion that you only develop when the public adores you, then suddenly ditches you for a backflipping toddler with a girl’s haircut.

It means we’ll never again see the Susan Boyle who we first fell for – you know, the heavily-edited Susan Boyle whose voice was deliberately obscured by applause to make her look better than she actually was. Sad.

Remember the first time you heard Susan Boyle sing on Britain’s Got Talent? Of course you do – for starters it was only about a month ago, and secondly you probably also wrote a broadsheet newspaper column about how she’d singlehandedly altered the parameters of beauty forever with her beautiful singing voice and weird Stig Of The Dump face.

What’s that? You didn’t write a broadsheet newspaper about Susan Boyle? Well you’re the only one.

For weeks we’ve heard again and again how Susan Boyle has made it possible for unassumingly pubey everyblobs like her to wrestle the mantle of celebrity away from the attractive, self-assured egomaniacs who traditionally hold that position. She’s proved that you don’t need good looks to become a worldwide sensation. She’s proved that you don’t need good looks to turn down meetings with heads of state.

And, after she failed to win Britain’s Got Talent on Saturday night, Susan Boyle proved that you don’t need good looks to become so overwhelmed by the crippling pressures of fame that you end up collapsing into a dizzying downward spiral of mental anguish that leads you to being admitted to The Priory in an ambulance. Because, after losing Britain’s Got Talent and then reportedly having a tantrum about it at the studio afterwards, that’s what happened to Susan Boyle yesterday. The Sun reports:

Paramedics helped the “spaced-out” star through the lobby and into an ambulance just after 6pm. The ambulance, tailed by a police car, then took her to the Priory in Southgate, North London. A source at the hotel said last night: “She’d been at the hotel for a few days, but since Saturday’s final had been acting strangely, causing a bit of a stir. The staff were concerned – something wasn’t right.”

Sad as it is, this is hardly shocking news. Anyone who saw Susan Boyle perform on Saturday’s Britain’s Got Talent final must have known that something was up – the poor woman seemed utterly shell-shocked throughout, like Jack Nicholson at the end of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. The pressure had got to her. And now she’s gone and done a Britney.

Still, at least we can be thankful that Susan Boyle sought treatment while she was still in control of her own destiny and, more importantly, in control of her own knickers. Honestly, that really would have been too awful to bear.

Anyway, now that Susan Boyle’s in good hands, let’s ask ourselves what part of Britain’s Got Talent we enjoyed the most. Was it the part where the 10-year-old girl had a hysterical sobbing fit on live television because she forgot one word of a song and the crushing weight of expectation got to her? Was it the part where the 11-year-old boy had a hysterical sobbing fit on live television because a smug millionaire told him that he was rubbish at the thing he loves to do? Or was it the part where the hairy middle-aged woman was thrust into a situation that she wasn’t mentally prepared for with such violent force that she couldn’t cope and had to be taken to a clinic in an ambulance?

No, in retrospect it was probably DJ Talent. He was quite funny, wasn’t he?

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It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

The paparazzi were waiting outside ITV with their wide-angle lenses attached, the party in Blackburn’s village hall was ready to go (crisps, pop and some raw horse meat for Susan Boyle to tear into), and a lady who lives with 30 cats in Wisconsin had pre-written a Wikipedia entry and was sat with her finger hovering over the ‘Submit Now’ button.

But the horrible truth was revealed, and hecklerspray were left to wonder: how do we write hilarious words about Diversity? It’s like turning up for a fight and finding Mike Tyson when you expected Stephen Hawking.

Saturday night. A date with destiny for ten lots of oddbods, misfits and Scottish virgins who wanted to win £100,000 and an evening spent performing their unfunny/out-of-tune/untreated-epileptic/cute/abusive-relationship/arms-like-ham-hocks acts (we think that covers them all), in front of a sleepy Queen.

And a date with disappointment for millions of overweight ladies who like cats,  sweaters with Bible verses on them, and meals-for-one.

So, with heavy heart and a sense of sadness that Susan Boyle will no longer be around to provide a big, blocky target of fun, we present our final review of the finalists. In the Final. Finally.

2 Grand, old man and grandchild. How can we possibly write anything bad about a loving granddad singing with his granddaughter? An old man shouting random song lyrics over his stageschool-voiced young relative? No way. You go, 2 Grand. But carefully: there’s some steps to get down from the stage.

Shaheen Jafargholi, big-voiced, tiny-bodied Welsh lad. Since the demise of Mr Poo earlier in the week, the voters of Wales have been fully behind little Shaheen. But as there’s only about 30 people in Wales, and everyone else thought he was a smarmy little turdpot, the lad had no chance.

Shaun Smith, contortionist singer. Looks like someone began making a plasticine model of Zac Efron, but decided halfway through to do Morrissey instead. Has apparently been told by his singing teacher that emotion is best expressed by “squirming around like you’re trying to shit out a bag of rusty nails”.

Stavros Flatley neckless Cockney tubbies. After the performance the dad nearly died from a heart attack, the son looked surprisingly unafraid of dying from shame, and we almost died from the effort of resisting the urge to throw our cat through the telly screen. It’s a plasma, see.

Pretty rare, those plasma cats.

Simon Cowell loved them, especially when told by Flatley Senior that “you must have a bit of Greek in you”. We’ll leave it up to you to decide which bit. Meanwhile, Amanda Holden (who had gone with the surprising choice of ‘Wartime French prostitute’ for the final) told the dancing lard sculptures that “you made me laugh my head off”. At which point a technician hurried into the studio to tighten some bolts. We’d love to tell you what Piers Morgan’s reaction was , but honestly, when he talks all we hear is the sound of an eel trying to climb out of a bucketful of slugs.

Diversity, awe-inspiring talent vortex. Amazing performance from the D-Crew, simply stunning. Rhythm, passion, a touch of humour: they had it all. Worthy winners.

Susan Boyle, hairy angel (TM). The singing orc returned, carrying the world’s hopes and dreams on her massive, powerful shoulders. With thirteen trillion YouTube views behind her, she could not fail. But more on that later.

From the moment the cameras revealed the wee Scot (and after a slight pause as the viewers mentally adjusted from “Why the hell is there a foil-wrapped potato on stage? With a wig made from armpit hair stuck on top of it?” to “Aah, it’s her. But still, why is she wearing a wig made from armpit hair?), through a powerhouse performance marred only by a bizarre shaking of the head at one point (presumably she was trying to dislodge the beetles which nest within her eyebrows), Susan awed the world. The judges loved her, Simon praising her for dealing with the recent tabloid storm:

“You could have walked away from this, and you could have had a lot of stuff coming your way in America… For what? For you to sit at home with your cat?”

To which Susan made a “stroking my pussy” hand motion, the mental associations of which caused 14-feet of intestine to make a bid for freedom via our mouth.

Just like the Titanic, she weighs approximately fourteen thousand tons and is braced by steel girders around her midsection was unsinkable. And just like that notable vessel, her hopes were sunk by an iceberg awful bunch of dancing wankers. Proud in victory, gracious in defeat: bless you, Ms Boyle, and all who sail in you.

We have perhaps confused ourselves a little here.

Farewell, BGT, we shall never see your like again. Not for several weeks, anyway: America’s Got Talent starts soon. And considering the weirdos that Britain managed to spew onto our screens, just imagine what levels of depraved freakery the combined efforts of Arkansas, Texas and Utah will produce.

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We’re halfway up the Everest of semi-finals week, and ITV have kindly given us a little sniff from a tank of oxygen, in the form of a day with no show. Caution: metaphor-stretching ahead.

Since setting off from auditions basecamp, it’s been a steady slog up the north face of Britain’s Got Talent. The air’s getting thinner than Darth Jackson’s address book, and colder than the series of pumps and switches that pass for Amanda Holden’s heart.

But if you find yourself tiring, don’t worry: Susan Boyle will truss you up with climbing rope and hoist you over her hefty shoulders.

Okay, we’re all out of mountaineering references. Point being, we now know who six of the Grand Final’s ten acts will be.We can’t detail all of the acts who’ve appeared in semis two and three – literally. We tried, but ended up shoving the computer’s keyboard down our throat to end the misery. So, probably best if we stick with the most likely to win the most talented the most mental and/or ugly ones.

Merlin Cadogan, cannonball-shouldered escapologist. Despite Amanda’s logic circuits shortcircuiting – leading her to believe that “burning to death” was the biggest threat to a man who at any moment could fall from a storey’s height, head first – the judges liked Merlin. But he was never going to make it: everyone knows that The Queen hates seeing one of her citizens spill his brains onto a theatre stage right in front of her. Quite puts her off her jumbo bag of Skittles, it does.

Jamie Pugh, weirdly bearded bag of nerves Welsh singer. The eagerly-awaited return of the man with the all fortitude and inner-strength of a carrier-bag full of custard. He’d wowed the world with his first audition, revealing a big singing voice despite his nerves. Sadly, between then and his semi-final appearance someone had replaced his original, operatic voice with the sound of a cow giving birth while falling down a flight of stairs. Back to delivering pizzas in Lllannnffyrrrcchhyynnaaacchhh for you, Mr Poo.

Shaun Smith, squishy-faced teen singer. Going for the mature vote with his song choice (U2’s With Or Without You), and the pre-teen vote with his facial choice (Robert Pattison being crushed in a vice), Shaun belted out his song. Despite the fact that when he got to the loud bits he looked like a man with a ruptured appendix being repeatedly punched in the testicles by an invisible dwarf, the judges decided to put him through.

Flawless, military-themed dance nonsense. Did you really want another bunch of tedious street dancers in the final? DID YOU? Honestly, you sicken us. And we’ve seen over eighteen thousand photos of Susan Boyle.

Ben And Becky, whirly-twirly dancing. Oh sweet mercy, we take it back, Flawless, We’d rather spend eternity with you lot practicing your routines on our scrotum than watch another second of these two. Typically, Amanda liked them so much she did that arms-straight-out-in-front clapping thing. We suggest someone checks her oil level, it seems her elbow joints might have seized up.

Stavros Flatley, borderline abusive father and his son. Topless. Prancing around like a right pair of arses. Honestly, Flatley Senior, if you hate your boy that much, and so want to see him bullied that you’d make him show his moobies on television, we’ve got some advice: go the whole frickin’ hog (no pun intended, fatty) and have him just come on stage and do the Truffle Shuffle. Anyway, they’re through.

Shaheen Jafargholi, Welsh-Iranian singing foetus. Oh, Shaheen, with your granny-pleasing smile and pervert-pleasing fresh-faced innocence. Looks set to provide tough competition for Susan Boyle in the final.

And that, apparently, has the lady in a real tizzy. According to The Daily Mail, after watching Shaheen’s performance while in a public room of a London hotel:

“Boyle is alleged to have reacted to Morgan’s praise for the 12-year-old by sticking two fingers up at a television and shouting ‘f[uck] off’, before stomping off to her room.”

Confirmation of the hotel’s structural integrity following this stomping is not yet available.

So, will this filthy outburst affect how the public views Susan (who we believe was conceived when Ram-Man had sex with a Gremlin). We don’t know yet, but we’re hoping that she keeps focused, and is able to bring her best game on Saturday.

Oh, hang on, hang on. We’ve got one: we hope she can go on to scale the peaks of success, and avoid falling down the deep crevasses of failure.

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Things aren’t always black and white, you know. There’s not always one goodie and one baddie in every fight.

Sometimes it’s impossible to side with anyone. Just look at Lily Allen and Susan Boyle. Lily Allen has called Britain’s Got Talent’s breakout Pillsbury pube monster Susan Boyle ‘overrated’ on Twitter. Which, we have to say, is grounded in truth somewhat. But, you know, Lily Allen said it. Lily Allen.

We’d suggest that Lily and Susan get a room, but we’re scared that the resulting offspring will be a dumpy little half-stoat half-Ewok hybrid covered in nipples. So we won’t.

You want a queen of controversy? Lily Allen’s your girl. There’s literally no subject on the face of the Earth that Lily Allen is afraid to speak out about, provided that the subject is Cheryl Cole and Lily’s got an album out that she wants to promote. Within those hilariously narrow parameters, Lily Allen’s your girl.

But sometimes even Lily Allen likes to branch out and attack a bigger target. By which we mean physically bigger. By which we mean physically hairier. By which we mean Susan Boyle, the shiny-faced reanimated Ida fossil who has captured the world’s heart by being able to sing dreary showtunes adequately while looking a bit funny on Britain’s Got Talent.

You see, while you’ve all fallen in love with Susan Boyle or – if you’re a broadsheet newspaper columnist – made up a lot of patronising horseshit about how the fact that Susan Boyle has got one massive eyebrow and generally looks like someone who touches herself on the bus made you cry because her singing voice didn’t sound like a seagull being rammed into a waste disposal unit, Lily Allen has taken a different standpoint.

In short, Lily Allen thinks that Susan Boyle is rubbish. Sort of. On her Twitter page, Lily Allen wrote:

“Susan Boyle is so overrated. yes, she can sing, but it’s not about talent with her is it? she seems like a lovely lady but if its about talent,that Shaheen kid should win”

Now, we can sort of see Lily Allen’s point – based on everything that’s been said about her, you’d think that Susan Boyle had the ability to heal the sick and end all forms of poverty with every verse of whatever bloody musical it is that she likes so much. But in reality she’s just a dumpy Scottish woman who’s slightly better than that awful topless Tommy Cooper Riverdance kid.

However, we know better than anyone that Susan Boyle fans are so loyal to their hero that they’d probably torch an orphanage if one of the children said anything less than positive about her, so it looks like it’s war. Which side will you be on? The Lily Allen side or the Susan Boyle side?

Us? We’re going to stay indoors until everyone’s killed each other, and then nick their TVs. It seems like the most sensible thing to do.

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In many ways, Susan Boyle’s journey on Britain’s Got Talent is much like the history of America’s Civil Rights Movement.

Both have shown that it is wrong to judge people based on appearance. Both have proven that the oppressed can, through strength of spirit and unshakable belief in what is right, break down barriers and rise above discrimination. Both are close to Oprah Winfrey’s heart.

And both have gone on for so long now that decent society must look deep within itself and ask: what is wrong with us, that after all which has gone before, we still must confront these things?

Susan Boyle: success or failure? One hit wonder or platinum megastar? Shooting for the moon or reaching for a dole cheque? Her own hair or a misplaced mirkin?

These are the questions the whole world has spent the last few weeks wrestling with – much as we imagine Susan spends her weekends back home in Blackburn, Scotland, tussling with a rampant stag while the rest of the village stands around cheering and placing bets.

And they were answered on Sunday night, when the blocky lass opened up her vocal pipes and… well, just carry on reading to find out if she was Manchester United or Newcastle United, as we review the first set of contestants to ask the public: please can you validate my meaningless existence for another week?

Diversity, street dance wank. Their Michael Jackson/Mission Impossible mashup should have been a confusing mess of imagery, but somehow…it was much worse than that. They got through, though, so we’re looking forward to their next performance: perhaps a Bee Gees/Indiana Jones hybrid, in which the lads pull some disco moves while running away from a big rock? Go rock.

Sue Son, miniature violinist. plucky little Sue famously plucked up the guts to jettison her useless best friend in the audition rounds, at the suggestion of Simon Cowell. Though we think it was probably just a game on his part, to see what humiliations he could make unknowns perform in the name of fame. Not shown on TV was the audition of a mother/daughter singing act, at the end of which Cowell turned to the girl and said: “Hmm, interesting. You’re good, but she’s holding you back. Here’s a sword, now kill her”. Anyway, Sue Son was predictably useless and got kicked off.

Darth Jackson, worryingly unstable virgin. Probably. With a stageshow apparently concocted by a gay man who’d been given a handful of acid and told to “Give us Star Wars On Ice As Imagined By Graham Norton’s Dress-Sense. But more gay”. After his performance, Darth made the terrible mistake of revealing what lay beneath the helmet. Answer: quite possibly the scientific definition of the smallest possible unit of sexual attractiveness. A sex photon, if you will. Sadly, Darth seemed to realise his terrible mistake, and we were forced to bear witness to a man upon whom was descending the realisation that he had just spunked away the one molecule of pride he had left, on a theatre stage, in front of tens of millions of people, who now all hated him more than anything in this world because no amount of mindbleach would be enough to ever scrub the image of his creepy face from their brains.

Natalie Okri, popchild. Sang a Jamelia tune, but for some reason decided to perform it as a puppet operated by an epileptic on a treadmill, voiced by an drunk, asthmatic three-year-old.

Julia Naidenko, softcore porn. Julia, the Latvian bellydancer, had mixed reactions from the judges. Simon Cowell somehow restrained himself from throwing a bunch of fivers onto the stage. Amanda Holden watched with the icy detachment expected from what is basically a Borg in a pretty dress. And Piers Morgan had to be wiped clean of the three litres of drool which ran from his stupid, floppy, just-eaten-a-raw-lemon face. Sadly, nice lady lumps failed to save Julia tonight.

Nick Hell, Gothic self-harmer. Nick HELL (do you see how evil he is?) and a fat midget brought their best tonight. Sadly, that meant a half-arsed attempt to shock the audience, by sticking a drill up his nose and gurning.

Faces Of Disco, big-boobed dancing men. They dance. While wearing masks of famous people! People you’ve seen on the telly!! Dancing!!! LOLZ!!!! Nice that they went to the effort of getting breast implants for their Cowell routine, though.

Susan Boyle, big-boned singing Orc. If we knew how to put her name in a big, colourful font with sparkles and fireworks, we’d do it. We love her, you see. Not in that way – only mentals and water bison love her in that way – but in the way which involves writing nasty, spiteful, childish, hurtful, rude, true words of naughtiness about her. Oh yes, we love her in that way.

As she arrived on stage, the world gasped: “Makeup? Is she wearing makeup? Gods, now she looks like a transvestite hooker. And what the hell have they done to her headpubes?”. Yes, Susan Boyle – the woman who looks like a Gummi Bear that’s spent two weeks down the back of a sofa in a “pound-a-peek” lapdancing club – has had a makeover. Instantly elevating her from ‘So you’re telling me that’s a real person, not something rescued from a Russian circus?‘, to ‘Well, yeah, I can sort of see the human in there. Though it is still hidden beneath several layers of Hobbit‘.

Anyway, she came, she sang, she conquered. Obviously. Simon Cowell just had to sit back and wait for millions of morons to apply pudgy thumbs to mobile phones. Which they did.

As did we. Because if Susan Boyle wasn’t in Britain’s Got Talent, we’d have nothing to write about except nervous children, dancing gays and a million interchangeable urban dance acts.

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Britain’s Got Talent on Saturday began to tell us which 40 acts were to perform again for the public vote.

And you’ll never guess which Oprah-loving, Obama-hating, probably metal bar-bending Sottish singer made it.

Give yourself ten points and a furtive crotch massage if you guessed Susan Boyle, she of The Voice, The Modesty and The Physical Characteristics Of A Balloon Rubbed On A Jumper Then Passed Over A Hairdresser’s Floor.

And Then Covered In Your Granny’s Christmas Wrapping Paper.

Okay, folks, here they are: your top 40 Britain’s Got Talent contestants. This weekend was the big night, when four-fifths of the contestants who had managed to evade Simon Cowell’s deathsquads were told that their dreams of performing for The Queen were over, and hopefully they still remembered the prices of all the different Gregg’s pasties.

They were formed into groups for the judging: here a couple of identikit street dance troupes, there a few smartarsed stageschool kids who were dreading the parental consequences of not making it through.

And it was clear what those who hadn’t yet made it to YouTube were thinking when they saw one of the already-a-bit-famous ones:

“Score! I’m in the group with that big Scottish lady who has moustaches over her eyes.“

Or:

“Yes! There’s that Welsh bloke who walks round like a vicar in a porn shop.”

Or even:

“Oh, ballbags, it’s that old fella with nipple tassles who they put through just because he thought he was in front of a Japanese firing squad at the audition.”

Contestants were paraded in their groups – wearing the Poundshop clothes they’d originally thought looked kinda classy – before The Trinity: Cowell, Piers Morgan and Amanda Holden.

Feeling now like dirty handkerchiefs set in front of gilded napkins, they were forced to endure a painful moment of truth: Cowell’s tedious schtick of pretending to care (”I am so sorry, but you didn’t make it. Now, if you could just sign these organ donor cards and step through the door over there…“); Amanda’s careful scrutiny of their responses, trying to figure out what humans look like when subjected to emotional highs and lows; and Piers’s……well, buggered if we know, when he talks he just sounds like an octopus that’s recently discovered it can make noises by slapping its tentacles together.

The contestants’ responses were much more varied than their genepools: the cocky little drummerboy’s smile melted like a snowflake on a stovetop; a virgin dressed up as Darth Vader shook his fist in sexless glee; Susan Boyle did a Scottish dance which instantly caused our insides to become our outsides; and – our favourite – a tiny little girl pulled the saddest face the world has ever seen, made somehow more tragic by the Charlie Chaplin moustache she was wearing.

You’re still waiting with lusty anticipation to hear how your heroine performed, aren’t you? Relax, that’s coming up later today.

Bring on the angry comments, fatties.

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And now, thanks to yet another woeful miscalculation, our look at Britain’s Got Talent draws to an end a week earlier than it should.

Because of this, next week we’ll be looking at the contenders to be the next female host of This Morning, which is just wonderful. But anyway, you know the deal by know – we pick the people we think might win Britain’s Got Talent and are then shamefully, needlessly horrible about them. And this is the last one, which means one thing.

Here’s the Britain’s Got Talent rundown for Susan Boyle…

Susan Boyle – Susan Boyle isn’t just the favourite to win Britain’s Got Talent; if we gave ITV viewers the choice, they’d probably install her as the head of the royal family. Why? Because of her voice? Hardly – it’s because she looks like a massive bogey that’s been rolled in pubic hair. But just because everyone on the planet has watched her Britain’s Got Talent audition 250 times in a row, it doesn’t necessarily mean that Susan Boyle is going to walk away with the title. Remember that the British public loves an underdog, and now that Susan Boyle is one of the most famous women on the planet, they might feel the need to knock her down a peg or two come the next round. Or she’ll end up winning. Whichever one means we hear about her less, we’d like that please.

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Britain’s Got Talent fans, you’ve come to the right place. Well, maybe not the right place. You’ve come to a place.

Because all this week we’re running down the top five contestants who we think will win Britain’s Got Talent. Not literally running them down, you understand – as satisfying as that would be, it’d also be illegal – and now we’ve reached the performer who we think will take the silver medal.

So here’s our Britain’s Got Talent profile for Jamie Pugh…

Jamie Pugh - If there’s one thing guaranteed to get the British public excited, other than a 50p-off Iceland voucher and an amusing newspaper story about immigrants hurting themselves, it’s an ugly person singing adequate renditions of Les Miserables songs. And that means it’s jackpot day for Jamie Pugh, who used his Britain’s Got Talent audition to sing Bring Him Home while pulling a face like a glum pebble. That’s not to say that he’ll win Britain’s Got Talent, of course – reports that his self-confessed stage fright and lack of performing experience are all bollocks have probably dented his image. Plus let’s not forget that when it comes to being ugly and performing Les Miserables in an adequate way, Jamie Pugh is up against Godzilla.

Tomorrow: the Britain’s Got Talent rundown for Susan Boyle, whoever that is.

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