Welcome sinners to the Church of St Cowell on the Dump. Tonight we gather to throw the next lamb to the lions in the shape of James Arthur. And no I know not who he is either.
As a X Factor Contestant he has had to crawl over the broken dreams of others, swim in the fake tears of reality television and face the wrath of a live a rabid studio audience with only a Dermot to protect him. This quest he took to appease the Gods of Simon and Walsh was a long and drawn out affair that left no one in any doubt that he’d be as successful as previous sacrificial lambs McElderry, Jackson and Brookstein, in that once the show was over they’d be dropped because they had served their purpose – no longer were their once ratings winning tones on our TVs so the fickle high-waisted deity cast them aside in favour of other clambering singers.
Not only have we seen the singers of the of this Ex-Factory Farm but the remains of dancers, novelty acts and dogs have been laid out before us here on the dais for us to look at one more time before he draws his quill across their contract and releases them from the bosom that protected and sheltered them. Now their souls haunt the small theatres and venues where they would have been happy all along but for the draw of the shiny shiny.
Mr Arthur here made the mistake of having a good singing voice but alas his meteoric rise was inevitably followed by the war of words in our holy scripture of Twitter. By putting a foot wrong in an exchange that saw him dismissed by St Frankie of Boyle and Rabbi Lucas of Little Britain he discovered that the protection he had once enjoyed was slowly removed and he was left to walk the streets for forty days and forty nights until his Press Release diagnosed “Exhaustion” left him. Now he sits and waits for the new year and the pilgrim’s progress of a national tour, by which time the next triumphant victor will be released and sent to face the trials of the Media – Heat Magazine being the deadliest of all the challenges.
But sinners, you can save him as you have failed to do on so many previous Michelle McManus occasions. You can lift him up and see him beatified before the eyes of our Moob Lord as he releases music unto the world from which he has been exiled. For we have greater work to do as the Essex based leper is released from his jungle chains into the populace after his labours come to an end – I fear he will not find the freedom that young James here could still discover as he has barely understood how to tie his shoelaces or tell the time.
While our sympathy and patience is tested time and again by this omnipresent saviour of ITV, we must understand that his motives are not to be questioned, we must have faith in him and trust his judgements as both X and BGT have another two years to run on our mortal earth. The set square hair and pre-prepared quip will bring us all back into the fold as he rises from the dead to reclaim his Saturday night throne next year. And we say in his name:
Our Simon, who art in the US
Talentless be thy name
Thy Kingdom’s done
In the States as it is in Britain
Give us our day of weekly rest
And forgive us our remotes
As we retune to Strictly
And lead us not into commercialism
But deliver us from karaoke
For thine is the power and the money
Forever and ever
The right reverend JD