The Axe Factor

And suddenly, there he is. Simon Cowell, in the flesh and looking JUST as he does on TV. (It’s remarkable, that uncanny resemblance people on TV or in the movies have to their on-camera countenances when you see them in real life, innit?) Complete with his trademark, fitted T-shirt.

“And what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Red,” I stammer.

“And what will you be singing for us today, Red?” By now I should’ve caught on that there is clearly something suspicious about this whole scenario, but unawares, I bravely push on.

“BlackBird/Bye Bye BlackBird.”

“Okay, let’s hear it. Good luck.”

I sing. Flawlessly. My voice oddly sounds JUST like that of Sara Gazarek, the amazing jazz songstress whose rendition of that very song happens to be one of my favourite tracks ever.

Since I don’t sound like me at all, it’s no wonder then that he lets me sing it the whole way through.

Afterwards, he looks towards the other judges, but I’m only waiting for HIS opinion. I think Randy Jackson is there too, which slightly niggles at me, since that wouldn’t be right.

Finally, Simon speaks again, about to hand down his career-altering verdict.

… And then I wake up from the dream.

Could it be time to axe all that obsessive X Factor viewing from my TV watching schedule?

P.S. Okay, okay, I didn’t actually wake up before he told me. He said no. But he DID say that he loved Sara’s voice, but just didn't think the "time was quite right for me" (never tell a procrastinator THAT, Si!) and so I left feeling elated. And then I woke up for realz.

P.P.S. It was really the dream I had last night and not just another of my incredibly amateurish writing tricks, honestly.