Britain's Got Talent kicks off this Saturday at 7.45pm on TV3 and UTV, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to staring slack jawed at some of the action shots from the show for the last 45 minutes. One needs to get themselves into a semi-debased state to engage with such specimens. That's probably why the show airs on a Saturday evening, just when people start coming to terms with their actions from Friday night. Looking at this lot can only make you feel better about yourself.
There are, of course, the odd nuggets of talent out there, who might actually have a skill to display in front of a member of the Royal family. There's the usual hoard of girls in spangly attire and the mandatory lady with dog. Cute operatic boy avec cumberbund. Unnveringly nimble prepubescent who, hopefully by the grace of several gods, won't find herself modifying her act slightly in 35 years time. This indeed is where Britain's Got Talent turns into Britain's ScotNOShame. Never mind the overweight belly dancers, the innovative horn blowers, or the excessivelymuscled men - what the f**k is this dude at?! OK, I know what he's at (assuming it's male - women don't fart, do they?!?) but I don't want to see that on my telly of a Saturday evening. I'd rather see this, or perhaps this. DEFINITELY not this. Piers de Resistance, indeed.
