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Slipperduke

The Camden Cad
Joined
Aug 24, 2004
Messages
4,333
Location
North London
There are a million and one reasons to dislike Cheryl Cole. There’s her colour, for starters, a curious orangey glow that smacks of either too much Sunny Delight or too many quid-a-minute South Shields tanning salons. There’s her husband, the odious little skraeling who earns more money in the time it takes him to pass water than you will in your entire life, and he knows it, and he’s laughing at you. There’s her music, a soulless mishmash of assembly line R’n’B with weak vocals phoned in on a wet Wednesday morning and layered over the beats like dandruff on the shoulders of an estate agent. And then there’s that time she was convicted of assault after battering a toilet attendant in what the judge referred to as, “an unpleasant piece of drunken violence.”

But let’s leave all that alone and get to the main bone of contention. Cole is a judge on a game-show called ‘The X-Factor’ where the young and the feckless are invited to sing live on stage in front of a horde of jeering know-nothings scooped up from the nearest bus-shelter. Her role, as well sorting the future stars of Butlins from the collection of mentally subnormal mouth-breathers that the show happily exploits in the early stages, is to mentor. She’s there to guide these young starlets, blowing torrents of smoke up their bottoms until they begin to believe that this pimped-up version of ‘Bob Monkhouse’s Opportunity Knocks’ is their passport to lasting fame and fortune and not just the chance to be the answer to a quiz question in some dumbed-down future version of Trivial Pursuit.

All of which was perfectly fine until the day she decided to launch a solo career with an X-Factor performance of her own. ‘Dreadfully sorry,’ she may as well have announced to whichever generic, shiny-faced munchkin she was mentoring that week, ‘but you’re yesterday’s news and it‘s my turn to be in the spotlight.’ Now, Cheryl should have been brilliant live because she actually won her place in Britain’s mosrt recent incarnation of Bananarama by appearing in a very similar game-show. She’s a champion.

But despite her weeks of advice to the youngsters who had to overcome their nerves to croon live in front of an audience of millions, Cheryl wasn’t interested in actually doing any singing herself. No, no, no, no. That’s what non-famous people do. Instead, she mimed her way through her desperately bland effort with nothing more note-worthy than an ill-fitting pair of strides. Then, as the cassette clicked to a halt backstage and, without even a trace of shame, she stood there beaming as her fellow judges gave her the kind of praise usually reserved for Nelson Mandela. Half an hour later, she was back giving advice on how to sing live in front of loads and loads of people.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s lauded by the public like Diana - Version 2.0, it probably wouldn’t upset me that much, but this incessant delusion that she’s ‘our Cheryl’, a working girl made good, is enough to make me gouge my own eyeballs out with smashed light bulbs just to give me something to take my mind off it. She’s a fraud. She’s a cheat. She’s not Madonna. She’s not Britney Spears. Christ on a biscuit, she’s not even Tiffany. Or Debbie Gibson. She’s rubbish.

That said, she is pretty fit.
 
Slipperduke said:
There are a million and one reasons to dislike Cheryl Cole. There’s her colour, for starters, a curious orangey glow that smacks of either too much Sunny Delight or too many quid-a-minute South Shields tanning salons. There’s her husband, the odious little skraeling who earns more money in the time it takes him to pass water than you will in your entire life, and he knows it, and he’s laughing at you. There’s her music, a soulless mishmash of assembly line R’n’B with weak vocals phoned in on a wet Wednesday morning and layered over the beats like dandruff on the shoulders of an estate agent. And then there’s that time she was convicted of assault after battering a toilet attendant in what the judge referred to as, “an unpleasant piece of drunken violence.”

But let’s leave all that alone and get to the main bone of contention. Cole is a judge on a game-show called ‘The X-Factor’ where the young and the feckless are invited to sing live on stage in front of a horde of jeering know-nothings scooped up from the nearest bus-shelter. Her role, as well sorting the future stars of Butlins from the collection of mentally subnormal mouth-breathers that the show happily exploits in the early stages, is to mentor. She’s there to guide these young starlets, blowing torrents of smoke up their bottoms until they begin to believe that this pimped-up version of ‘Bob Monkhouse’s Opportunity Knocks’ is their passport to lasting fame and fortune and not just the chance to be the answer to a quiz question in some dumbed-down future version of Trivial Pursuit.

All of which was perfectly fine until the day she decided to launch a solo career with an X-Factor performance of her own. ‘Dreadfully sorry,’ she may as well have announced to whichever generic, shiny-faced munchkin she was mentoring that week, ‘but you’re yesterday’s news and it‘s my turn to be in the spotlight.’ Now, Cheryl should have been brilliant live because she actually won her place in Britain’s mosrt recent incarnation of Bananarama by appearing in a very similar game-show. She’s a champion.

But despite her weeks of advice to the youngsters who had to overcome their nerves to croon live in front of an audience of millions, Cheryl wasn’t interested in actually doing any singing herself. No, no, no, no. That’s what non-famous people do. Instead, she mimed her way through her desperately bland effort with nothing more note-worthy than an ill-fitting pair of strides. Then, as the cassette clicked to a halt backstage and, without even a trace of shame, she stood there beaming as her fellow judges gave her the kind of praise usually reserved for Nelson Mandela. Half an hour later, she was back giving advice on how to sing live in front of loads and loads of people.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she’s lauded by the public like Diana - Version 2.0, it probably wouldn’t upset me that much, but this incessant delusion that she’s ‘our Cheryl’, a working girl made good, is enough to make me gouge my own eyeballs out with smashed light bulbs just to give me something to take my mind off it. She’s a fraud. She’s a cheat. She’s not Madonna. She’s not Britney Spears. Christ on a biscuit, she’s not even Tiffany. Or Debbie Gibson. She’s rubbish.

That said, she is pretty fit.
Blimey Slip, has someone upset you today...
 
Brilliant stuff Slip. With this and the Monopoly post, are you writing some kind of Jeremy Clarkson-esque take on the world book?! If not, you should!
 
She's (technically still) in Girls Aloud.

And therefore in (un)arguably the 7th best band of all time (just behind DFA1979, Underworld, Future of the left, Arab Strap, Pixies and some others).

So that's good enough for me. I just chose to ignore any programmes where any of the 5 girls actually speak, for fear of tainting what is a rather lofty image I hold of them as being lush, talented and clever...
 
Brilliant stuff Slip. With this and the Monopoly post, are you writing some kind of Jeremy Clarkson-esque take on the world book?! If not, you should!

Well, I've finished with those Sports books now (out in April, plug plug plug), and I've got some free time back in the afternoons. I thought a random blog might be in order, just to keep me fresh. Too much football rots your vocabulary.

Anyway, it will now be on my signature and I have a feeling I'll be adding to it frequently.
 
Well, I've finished with those Sports books now (out in April, plug plug plug), and I've got some free time back in the afternoons. I thought a random blog might be in order, just to keep me fresh. Too much football rots your vocabulary.

Anyway, it will now be on my signature and I have a feeling I'll be adding to it frequently.

Well those two are a brilliant read so I look forward to more. Not sure on the name of the blog though! Sounds a bit menacing / sinister!!
 
Wags, the *acronym used to describe the wives and girlfriends of footballers, is a sexist slap in the face; an appellation that underlines their status as adjuncts to their *husbands: accessories, appendages. By the 21st century, we might have *expected the idea of women being *defined by their male partners to have died – along with the idea of marriage as a career path. And yet, when it comes to the Wag obsession, we seem to have regressed many decades. As the feminist writer Natasha Walter says, "There's a really worrying hierarchy in the newspapers: that to be the wife is better than to be the girlfriend, and to be the wife of the more successful footballer is *better than to be the wife of the less successful footballer. It's like an 18th- or early 19th-century idea of the woman being given value by her *relationship with the man, and the more successful he is, the more *valuable she is.
 
Wags, the *acronym used to describe the wives and girlfriends of footballers, is a sexist slap in the face; an appellation that underlines their status as adjuncts to their *husbands: accessories, appendages. By the 21st century, we might have *expected the idea of women being *defined by their male partners to have died – along with the idea of marriage as a career path. And yet, when it comes to the Wag obsession, we seem to have regressed many decades. As the feminist writer Natasha Walter says, "There's a really worrying hierarchy in the newspapers: that to be the wife is better than to be the girlfriend, and to be the wife of the more successful footballer is *better than to be the wife of the less successful footballer. It's like an 18th- or early 19th-century idea of the woman being given value by her *relationship with the man, and the more successful he is, the more *valuable she is.

Who are you and what have you done with southend4ever?!
 
Who are you and what have you done with southend4ever?!

I think Germane Greer has infiltrated the world of male dominated football forums and is replacing people with clones of her own making aggggghhh

Maybe she has a hit squad for the Cole entity (that sausage roll does have more purpose and use)
 
She's (technically still) in Girls Aloud.

And therefore in (un)arguably the 7th best band of all time (just behind DFA1979, Underworld, Future of the left, Arab Strap, Pixies and some others).

Struggles to not neg-rep Seany T.
 
Well those two are a brilliant read so I look forward to more. Not sure on the name of the blog though! Sounds a bit menacing / sinister!!

Cheers mate, much appreciated!

I am a bit worried about the name now. I keep getting told that it sounds really disturbing. I wanted something memorable, but I may have plumped for something a bit too memorable...
 
Cheers mate, much appreciated!

I am a bit worried about the name now. I keep getting told that it sounds really disturbing. I wanted something memorable, but I may have plumped for something a bit too memorable...

Not that us mere mortals should be telling you anything to do with 'wordsmithing' but it really does sound slightly disturbing and off kilter to the content of the blogs!
 
Not that us mere mortals should be telling you anything to do with 'wordsmithing' but it really does sound slightly disturbing and off kilter to the content of the blogs!

Hmmm...yes, I've got a horrible feeling that you may be right. I'll sleep on it, I reckon.

In the meantime, if anyone feels an urge to Tweet a link to it or anything modern like that, I'd really be very grateful.
 
Spot on Slipper, your words always make me smile. Shes just a talentless bimbo, riding on the coattails of others.
 
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