THE nearest I came to making it big in a talent show was when I wowed an audience with a remarkable display of music and movement when humming and dancing simultaneously.

I was supposed to be singing a duet with my sister but a wasp was so excited by the prospect of hearing our version of I'm a Pink Toothbrush that it tried to get as close to the action as possible. Next to the Murray Mint in my mouth.

It was time to show a cool head in a crisis and so I ran around the stage like a dervish in a mad whirl while humming "Help me someone! Help, help me someone!" to a tune reminiscent of the Beach Boys. Though off-key.

Surprisingly, we didn't get through.

I can hold a tune about as well as a devil can hold a snowball but at least I know it. Tonight we will witness a string of people who don't, chasing their ridiculous dreams by auditioning on ITV1's X Factor. Most will have as much talent at carrying a tune as my wasp. With tonsillitis.

But, for the next few weeks, millions of us will be glued to our TV screens watching in utter disbelief the self-deception displayed by a bunch of brave but horribly misguided fools.

Yes, there will be some people who will surprise us with their excellent virtuosa performances but for every Leona Lewis there will be a bucketful of wince-making warblers put through the wringer.

What most can expect, for the nation's entertainment, is rudeness from Simon Cowell, patronising prattle from the other judges, rejection, emotional pity from Dermot O'Leary and dejection after the public humiliation of shattered hope.

X factor? More like "Why?"