X-Factor Results Show: Judges Lurid Diary Secrets Leaked

This week, in an attempt to downplay the public outcry about last week's results show, Louis Walsh opened up his 'personal' diary to the Daily Mail. Now, we present exclusive extracts from the diaries of the entire X-Factor team.
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This week, in an attempt to downplay the public outcry about last week's results show, Louis Walsh opened up his 'personal' diary to the Daily Mail. Now, we present exclusive extracts from the diaries of the entire X-Factor team.

Louis Walsh

I won’t lie, it’s been a tough week diary - I’m getting it from every direction. And not in a good way, like that long weekend in Sitges. Gary seems to think I was faking it last week, but it genuinely was a tough choice. I’ve been known to dither of which flavour of Weetabix Minis to buy. I’m also getting pretty sick of people picking on me for always using the same stock phrases. My contract is watertight – like the background players in Corrie who’re only allowed to complement the Hot Pot or mention the weather. If I want to appear on camera at all, I can say “world class,” “sang your heart out” or “made it your own.” Anything else and Equity will have my balls for ear-muffs.

Tonight got pretty stressful when Dermot revealed that my boys District J were in the bottom two. Not because of Gary – if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to calm down a stressed out boy-bander. I was more worried about the fellas having to sing for their lives. Maybe I shouldn’t have put two groups of lads through; I’m sure they’re cannibalising each other’s votes. But it’s not like they haven’t put the work in. They’ve got the whole package, right down to the patented ‘boyband claw’ hand gestures on the big notes. And I thought they sounded great, even with that ridiculous electro-stomper arrangement on Everything I Do (I Do It For You).

Nicole Scherzinger

Hey y’all!
Heyyyy! You all!
Fuck it, why can’t I make that sound natural?
Two weeks in and I still sound like Sylvester Stallone trying to talk hillbilly in Rhinestone.
You know, I looked back at Kelly’s videos from last year. She seemed to sell in that homespun sass effortlessly. So I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong. I get the feeling my ‘baby oil’ comment didn’t go down too well on the live show, so I tried it out on a cameraman in the corridor, along with a cheeky wink. I don’t know about the audience at home, but he certainly seemed to appreciate it.

I’ve been hoping for a little more coverage as the season rolls on, and guess what, I finally got it. I thought I’d blown it with the random ‘chicken wings’ comment, but once we got down to the sing-off, it was yours truly who had to cast the deciding vote. OK - I took it to deadlock, but at least Rylan was already safe, so Gary wasn’t going to get all up in my bidness. Yeah, that’s not working either, is it?

Tulisa Contostavlos

God I’m bored.
Everyone reckons I’m a dead cert to win this year too. But what’s the biggie? Cheryl won twice in a row, and where is she now? Gateshead? Anyway, the fact that Ella’s head and shoulders above everyone else has taken all the suspense out of it. Don’t get me wrong, I love the other two, but they’re just a bit… Well, put it this way, they made quite the double denim duo during the opening song. I didn’t know whether they were supposed to be doing Gotye or a reprise of the Prisoner Cell Block H musical.

To be honest, I was glad for the chance to take a break this week and shoot a video. Even better, I won’t have to film a public apology for this one. But I do wish they’d stop coming to me whenever someone mentions the word ‘urban’. I’m trying to get away from all that shit, but every time someone shows up in a baseball cap, they’re all over me. Still, I felt it was my responsibility to warn MK1 not to let Louis take the urban out of them. Then again, his acts would be better off not letting him put anything in them either.

Dermot O’Leary

Bollocks. There’s no going back now. T4’s just been axed. So I guess I’m stuck in these badly fitted suits doing my Usain Bolt poses for viewers who don’t like anything more challenging than Wild At Heart on a Sunday evening. Here’s the thing diary, I know this isn’t university challenge, but we seem to be getting stupider with every passing week. Do I really need to explain all the things that the voice-over guy has just said thirty seconds earlier?

And get this – I got notes two minutes before we went live, saying I had to introduce Rebecca Ferguson as a “member of the X-Factor family.” I guess alumni is too fancy a word for ITV.

I guess it could be worse. I mean Miquita’s hosting shitty video countdowns, and Ben Shephard got caught out trying to flog Nestlé cereals on Channel 5. Losers.

Frank Strachan, X-Factor Stylist

I wasn’t going to write an entry today. I figured I could just slash my wrists and smear the wounds all over the pages. Seriously, I’m never going to work in this town again after tonight’s mess. The group sing-off was just as bad as always, like a ram-raid in Primark. But Jesus, I get two big music stars to work with, and this is what they choose to perform in.

Taylor Swift’s a bonnie lass. And she’s gone supernova, despite having a face like one of those hairless Sphinx cats. The producers played me her new song last week, and I got loads of great ideas. I mean, it just sounds like Katy Perry, Ke$ha, Avril Lavigne and Glee chucked in together. So I figured we could mash up all those looks – face glitter, pink extensions and squirty-cream tits. But no – she turns up in high-waisted black shorts, and a sparkly purple sweater that a trainee librarian might wear in her eHarmony profile picture to show she knows how to let her hair down.

Rebecca Ferguson was no better. She’s always had a great sense of style – that’s why everyone loved her on the show. But here she is in a cheap red weave and a golden catsuit so tight she had trouble walking. I know these divas look for any excuse to have a muscled man helping them along, but she performed like she was trying out Forrest Gump’s leg braces.

Gary Barlow

That’s it. I’m on the blower to Cowell first thing tomorrow morning and telling him he can poke this show up his arse. First, I have to sit there looking gracious as Rylan talks about me and him dishing it up and giving it back, as if we’re in that Two Girls, One Cup video. Then the producers took my comments completely out of context for the recap. Yes, I said that “the competition is so hot this year,” but if they’d kept the fucking cameras rolling they’d have heard me say “because a cat got caught in the air-conditioning unit.” Seriously, the technicians are fishing a mangled carcass out of the fan-blades right now.

Christopher’s getting a lot of stick right now, but as I said on the show “He’s the people’s vote.” I reckon that’s what David Cameron tells himself when he can’t sleep. Kye did Team Barlow proud this week – as I told him last night, he translated the song perfectly. It’s almost as if everyone’s forgotten that Love The Way You Lie was originally written in Flemish. Of course, you know why I’m ranting. Another week, another casualty. My category’s only got two acts left now. Poor old Melanie did all she could and belted out Stay With Me. I tell you, if that woman sings in the shower, she must imagine she’s being stabbed by some bloke in his mother’s dress. But you know what, diary, I’m going to try and stay positive. She spent the last few weeks moaning that she was missing her kids. At least she got her wish.

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