Rachel Parris, lady of letters, issues a warning to Simon Cowell

LiF blogger Rachel Parris has waited long enough – it’s time to enter a TV talent show …

Previous blogpost – Rachel pens a postcard from New York

rachel_parris5Dear Simon Cowell,
Hope you’re well! (you probably are!) I am certain you are as excited about the launch of The Voice as I am. How could you not be? If you are human and alive? As I’m sure you know, the new series started this week, and it will soon be followed by your own parade of plate-swivelling, dog-manipulating, voice-curling, body-mangling spectacles in the new series of Britain’s Got Talent in the next fortnight. I’ve seen the promos, Simon! The cat is out of the showbiz bag!

I, of all people, know that this kind of quality viewing doesn’t come around often – only for almost the whole year, so thank heavens the wait is over! I don’t know what you do when not appearing on such primetime gold, but I’m sure it is less satisfying than judging unhinged strangers (they’re not all unhinged, obviously – but you don’t give us much access to the talented sane ones).

Simon, this is a particularly special year for me, as I am planning to become part of the action. I have been intending to enter a TV talent show for so many years, I can hardly remember when the fascination started, but I think it may have been an early stirring for Gareth Gates that set me on this path. Be it The X-Factor, Britain’s Got Talent, I’d Do Anything or Any Dream Will Do (I was badly advised there), it has long been a dream of mine to win a commercial primetime trauma-vehicle. But it is only now, having watched and studied so many of these programmes, at great social expense, that I feel I have what it takes to win. So I’m entering. All of them. Get ready, Simon!

Time was when all you needed to get noticed in a talent show was have a secret child or a dead relative. Will Young’s plaintive speech to your good self in the first series of Pop Idol seems nothing to the tantrums, violence and lawsuits issued by today’s competitors. So I’ve really upped my game and have taken the following measures to guarantee success/win the nation’s hearts/inspire the nation’s vitriol/get a column in New! magazine/guest-present a 5-minute fashion slot on This Morning/pay off a third of my student loan/be recognised by anyone, at any time, please/be recognised my mother/achieve any level of self-worth.

1) I have not only quit my job, but have emailed offensive and semi-pornographic material to every employer I have ever had, as senior as possible, so that I have absolutely no chance of even basic employment in the future, therefore ensuring that this competition is unequivocally “MY LAST CHANCE”.

2) I have stocked up on diet pills and doughnuts, so I can allow my weight to fluctuate from within the finalists’ houses (for that is where I shall be!) and sell my “diet secrets”, “binge addiction hell” and “curvy and loving it!” stories to the relevant magazines.

3) I’m having it off with Frankie Cocozza. It’s a substantial sacrifice I can tell you, but needs must.

4) I’ve listened to all of Mariah Carey’s back catalogue so I can sing all those curly bits at the end of every phrase. The original melody line will be completely unrecognisable! Thanks Mariah!

5) I’ve bought a small dog, and will teach it tricks/wear it as a living hat.

6) I managed to get arrested last month for one-woman-rioting. I now have a criminal record that lends support to point 1), but which makes it plain that without music, my life is a lonely and desperate path that will probably end in jail, without the help of my mentor … (fingers crossed for either Louis “the Hair” Walsh or Danny Fit Irish from that band).

7) I have assembled a group of equally mediocre friends to enter, who are all the same height as me but with different colour hair, so we all have a fall-back as a patched-together girl-group if all else fails. We’re thinking of calling ourselves “Fallen Angels” or “Babestation” or “Top Sante” or “Jugs”.

8) I’ve sent my Gran to the Philippines and placed photos of her in gold frames all over my house with “I miss you Gran” written in sharpies on every one. To be fair, it is true.

9) Bought eye-drops from Boots.

10) Just in case you try to send me the doomed way of Steve Brookstein, Leon Jackson, Joe McElderry and Shayne Ward, and consign me to the HMV memorial bin, I have written a failsafe “winner’s song” (below) which will lodge me firmly in the hearts of the nation, in the hope of being the next Kerry Katona or Darius Danesh.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8uauJri9OZc] Here I come, Cowell: see you at bootcamp!
Rachel x
• Previous blogpost – Rachel pens a postcard from New York

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