Further proof of the hilarity of bad reviews

There much hilarity in the Cloud and Rullsenberg household last night when I took to (attempting) to read aloud Helen Pidd's review of The X-Factor Live. It got zero stars: always a good clue to how entertainingly bad and funny the review will be. Reading a bad review - so funny, it hurts - is one thing; reading it aloud can make the act of bladder control horribly difficult.(*) Treat yourself; try reading it aloud and I defy you not to be whimpering and cringing at the 'spectacle' Pidd describes.

There are few experiences in cultural life that can shake one's faith in the basic good of humanity, but sitting among 10,000 free-willed citizens who have paid £23.50 to watch blood-draining, pulse-stopping karaoke just about does it.

(*) Fret not readers, there were no nasty puddles on the kitchen floor --- though I guess that those addicted to rejuvenation on the advice of beauty therapists/cosmetic surgeons may well have considered me wasteful if I had.