Not Long Now

Britain’s Got Talent is my favourite thing. Oh, to live in a world where everyone wears sequins and all dogs jump backwards through hoops. I especially like the magicians with their glamorous assistants. There is something seedy and deranged about amateur magicians. I like to speculate on their sex lives – I bet they keep their assistants in cages. I think that next year I will audition myself, as a clown called Forcemeat. Underneath my grimy tailcoat I’ll wear a suit of ham and I’ll make people put their hands in my bumbag, even if they really, really don’t want to. My routine will involve mixing together a hundred horrible ingredients in a giant teacup and force-feeding Amanda Holden the resultant slop until something inside her ruptures. Then I will spit-roast all the precocious child-dancers with their Vaseline smiles and leg-warmers and alarming eye-shadow and I will eat them all up. Straight through to the second round. I am also available for children’s parties.