Little Mix, by way of Tulisa, made X Factor history last night by being the first girldband to ever win the competition. That appears to be the opening line most news outlets are going with this morning.
Tulisa's "little muffins" (is it just me that finds that moniker wrong) seemed to be the only shocked people on the planet when Dermot made the announcement. Then he made the mistake of shoving the mic firstly in Leigh-Anne's face, who looked at it for a while, before uttering "oh my god, wow". Then he swiftly moved it along to one of the more articulate members of the group, Jade, who said: "We are just so so grateful and thankful to everyone who voted and to everyone backstage", while Jesy added: "Oh my god this is never going to sink in. We cannot thank the public enough."
In hindsight, Leigh-Anne had every reason to be flabbergasted. Only a few months back, nobody knew who she was and last night she found herself standing onstage in Wembley Arena, singing in front of an audience of 10,000 people, without losing the run of her bodily functions. That's commendable.
To be honest, I didn't watch the whole of the final as a Christmas tree urgently needed wrestling down from the attic in a relative's house. Then the local needed visiting. Luckily for me, it took four hours spanning two days to announce that Little Mix had won the X Factor, so I managed to catch the final hour last night. Apparently I missed Simon Cowell ringing from sunny LA; Goldie Cheung putting on a(n a)rousing performance; Dermot's last dance, some very impressive leapfrogging from Jesy; several (well dodgy) outfit changes; and Amelia Lily getting her marching orders on Saturday night. Leona Lewis's contribution was also missed, which was most unfortunate *punches air*
Never fear, though, I did catch Westlife's performance. Yay. I also got to marvel at Louis Walsh and his ability to look like the interior of a jewellery box, as well as Chris Martin profusely sweating after one amazing light show. And, joy of all joys, I got to listen to Damien Rice's Cannonball no less than three times. Never been a fan of Damien's. Whenever I hear any of his drones, I'm greeted with the image of him in a massive wooly jumper languishing across the reception desk in Windmill Lane (might've mentioned I worked there once or 29 times). Not sure why this was surprising, but it was. There he was, physically lying across the desk moaning about something or other for about half an hour. Then, to stop the groaning, one of the sound engineers chirpily asked him where (then girlfriend) Lisa Hannigan was, he mumbled "She's out in the car." "Bring her in!" I said. "Meh, she's grand." Soooound. Anyway, he's going to make a lot of money this Christmas, fair play to him. See, you didn't get a blow by blow review of The X Factor final, but you did get a useless Damien Rice anecdote.
Caroline, our official X Factor mouthpiece, is currently sifting through 300+ emails, 'cause that's the downside of going on holidays. She might throw her two cents in regarding the final, as she actually watched it, later this afternoon. Until then, there's a load of photos for your viewing pleasure.