A particularly nice bit

When I’m not watching the door, I sit on the floor and watch the people around, trying hard not to let my head loll when I dropped off.

A girl with big boobs and a walkie-talkie arrives with a group of people. She lets some through, the others wait outside with us. I ask the boobs of L is still in there. She just arches an eyebrow at me.

A young boy covered in pimples hums into his scribbles on a spiral notepad, iPod earphones dangle from his ears. Three boys stand in a tight circle and practise harmonies. Every year I see that and I don’t get it. You can’t audition as a group. They sound pretty good though and they have the look. They have the black guy with the best voice, the blonde surfer dude, and a tough guy with a pencil thin beard. They’ll do well, but, as Mum says, boys aren’t any real competition, not this year. When Richo won last year, it pretty much guaranteed that a girl would win this year. I don’t know if they do that on purpose, but it’s true. The winners so far have run boy, girl, boy.

Behind the group, a big fat girl has plopped on the edge of the carpeted area away from the big crowds. She’s in  a costume, like fancy dress, but at first I can’t tell what she is supposed to be. She has two bendy plastic pipes coming out of each side of her. One loops around from shoulder to hip and the other id bent up and out, like a spout.

Here is my handle, here is my spout.

Right. I’m pretty sure she’s not the first person to audition with I’m a little teapot. See, they don’t just put the people who are good on telly, they put really bad ones too. They reckon it’s good for ratings. People don’t just want to see the talent that can sing, they want to see idiots making a fool of themselves. When the first series was on telly, Mum was pretty unimpressed. She called it a cross between New Faces and Funniest Home Videos.

Along with the teapot, there’s someone near the door dressed in red and white stripes, like a cross between boiled lolly and the Cat in the Hat. While were waiting outside, I saw a bloke decked out like a leprechaun topped with a green mad hatter top hat. I don’t know what they get out of it. Is just being on TV good enough? Mum said it’s better to have Lionel Brownstich call you an idiot on national TV than to be a brilliant singer that that no one has ever heard of. But that was last year.