A Trifle Depressed

Tuesday 1:14pm

We've just finished the morning audition session, and over lunch I have to admit to feeling a trifle depressed by the latest batch we've just seen. The production team warned us there'd be barren spells (Loretta's feeling it most, I think) but I had been led to believe that Britain was bursting with undiscovered superheroes. Mind you, if there can be opera singers lurking in mobile phone showrooms, we must not lose faith. I retain hope that just round the corner is a hero to answer all our prayers. Someone fast, strong, brave, preferably with the ability to fly - a "super" man, or girl, if you will. Perhaps they don't want to try out. Surely not. Is a place on the Judgemental Three not enough? Obviously we'll have to change it to the Judgemental Four when - and if - we find someone.

One more thing before we head back into the hall - something funny is still going on with the biscuits in my dressing room. I specifically asked the production team if there could be a saucer of custard creams left for me before and after each day's auditions, but in the last week the wheels have really fallen off. Two days running I was certain the biscuits must have fallen on the floor at some point and then been replaced. There was still fluff on two of them! I complained, of course, and they said they'd put my mind at ease. What did I get the next day? Bourbons! I don't even like Bourbons. It's harder to spot the fluff for a start. I could still see it though. Is it too much to ask for a fluffless custard cream? I'm led to believe that media personalities such as Ms J-Lo and the rather delectable Madonna have sizeably trickier demands (a 'rider', I'm told, is the word) for their dressing rooms. It doesn't put me in the finest of moods. Foxy's helping, of course. He got a runner to fetch me a copy of The Best of Enya to help calm me down.

I should wager Simon Cowell doesn't have to put up with this shit.